


Softening the Edges

by Ruby_JW



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017), betty/jughead - Fandom, bettyxjughead, bughead - Fandom
Genre: Best Friends, Confessions, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, OTP Feels, Romantic Friendship, Teen Angst, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 03:06:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10376475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_JW/pseuds/Ruby_JW
Summary: Jughead reflects on the important moments in his life growing up with Betty and how they have consistently been there for each other over the years. He has always wanted her to have whatever makes her happiest and for the longest time he was sure that wasn't him. Now that this may have changed he has a decision to make that could irreparably change their lives together.(Taking place before and during S1E6: Faster, Pussycats! Kill! Kill!)





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third was standing before his own reflection.  
He eyed himself over carefully in the mirror of the boy’s locker room, self-consciously preening.  
He picked a few woollies from his beanie, twisted at the unruly shock of dark hair in a futile attempt to gain some semblance of control over the fly away strands and stood back.

He took a few stilling breaths and couldn’t help but notice how it seemed a little hitched.  
How if he held his hands out in front of him instead of hiding them in his pockets, they shook.  
He held the edge of the sink before him firmly, as if to clamp out the nervousness using the stability of the porcelain. He stared himself down levelly, head bowing and shoulders lifting.  
  
The intensity of his own gaze gave him strength as it always did, even when his insides were fluttering chaos.

_You can do this._

He breathed out another hard gust of anxiety, closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

 _The time is now. It’s never going to be perfect. It’s never going to be ideal. It’s never going to be_ **easy**. But there might never be another opportunity. You’ve never felt this close. You’ve never been sure that you saw something – that you felt something there from her until now.  
  
If you don’t do it now, you might not have the courage to do it later. The moment will pass, and you could lose your chance with her for good. Could you live with that?

He met his own eyes again, a boulder now settling in his chest at the thought of that and the weight that came with it.

_Would you be able to forgive yourself if you just stayed quiet like you always do and never let her know the truth? You owe her the truth. You owe it to yourself, no matter how scary it is._

He smoothed his hands down over his face then let them meet palm to palm over his nose and mouth, as if in silent prayer; an anxious habit. He was holding his breath. He wanted silence in his mind, but it was going haywire. When he could hold it no longer he let his breath out in a fretful spurt and shook off his hands. He glared at himself in the mirror one more time, as if challenging himself to back down.

**_You can do this._ **

With an outward appearance of calm camouflaging the chaos that wracked his nerves inside, he strode from the room with purpose.


	2. Childhood Reflections

_“I still remember when you used to be nine years old  
I was a fool for you from the bottom of my soul”_

\---

He still remembered the day she noticed him.  
  
Archie’s home had permanently become his sanctuary, but Betty living next door was the happiest accident that had ever happened to him.  
  
Her family was a permanent blur of lively sound and color playing on in the background of his life at Archie’s house. The Coopers often proved to be an endless source of entertainment to two young small town boys. FP and Fred would sometimes keep company in the house, but the tree house belonged to him and Archie. That was their childhood world.

Betty was a part of that world in her own way. In the beginning she had always been there, radiating warmth whenever she passed below their tree house.

He and the red-headed boy took to peering curiously from the safety of their boys only haven in the treetop at the firsthand activities of girls, rolling their eyes at the ridiculous goings-on that occupied their time.  
  
Betty and Polly would sometimes be seen out on the lawn chasing one another, cartwheeling, dancing and giggling with a boom box out on the front porch, or tying one another’s golden hair into pig tails.

From the very earliest frame of time that he could trace her back in his memory, Betty Cooper was a snatch of sunshine that would pass by like a warm breeze, petrifying him every time she was near.  As if witnessing some breathing fable, he would pause wide eyed and vulnerable on the sidewalk with nowhere to hide before Archie came out. He would try to blend in with his surroundings. He would hold his breath, invisible, and watch her pass by in awe.

Then one day she just looked over her shoulder brightly, dimples deepening her smile, and chirped: “Hi!”

He nearly choked.

This became a ritual.  
  
He’d either be en route to Archie’s or waiting for him, and this vibrant whirlwind of daylight would whisk by and chat easily to him as he just stared, strangling on responses he never managed to muster.  
Girls were not a thing that was on his radar yet, and she was the only one his age that had bothered to notice he was alive so far.

The turning point was the day she blasted past him on the sidewalk laughing maniacally as a frantic jingle lifted to the neighbourhood, announcing ice cream.

“HURRY BETTY!!!” Polly screamed from some unseen location on Cooper property, startling anything that breathed nearby.

Betty’s light-up sneakers were flashing madly as she held a fist of change out in front of her like a warrior in a battle charge, in hot pursuit of the ice cream truck whisking by.

“Hey kid I got four dollars!” She suddenly bawled out from up ahead and flicked a quick look back at him. “Want somethin’?”

His eyes grew huge.  
Before he could even recover, the time to answer had long passed and she was already making her way back to him. She held out a random bounty to him anyway and dropped it unceremoniously into his cupped hands. He didn’t even look down at it. She looked so smug and proud of herself, and he was slightly taken aback by this gesture. It was a moment that would live with him as one of the earliest acts of kindness he’d experienced from a stranger.

She tore open the wrapper to one of two ice creams she was still holding brusquely with her teeth.

“Don’t worry it’s a good one.” She assured thickly, already partially into her own confection on a stick. “Have a nice day. Bye!” She said cheerily, carrying off an extra for her sister.

He was now left standing outside her house, still staring down at the token in his palms.  
  
Even then as new to the world as he was, he knew he was already in trouble.

\---

“So was it a good ice cream buddy?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin the day following the ice cream incident, sitting on Archie’s front porch soaking up the sunlight. She was just suddenly there beside him, too close for comfort. He felt especially humiliated as the truth was, he had been so moved by her small gesture of kind-heartedness that he’d kept the Popsicle stick. She laughed at his startled reaction.

“Hi again! You must really like Archie, huh.” She smiled. “I notice you here a lot.”

He stared, face burning. He had no idea how to deal with her. What made her such a sunny and bold child?

“Ya don’t talk much do you?” She giggled, and he ducked his head. “I’m Betty.”

She stuck out a hand which bore a gigantic ring pop and no less than twelve brightly coloured, gaudy bracelets surely crafted by herself and Polly. He took her hand and felt a flood of embarrassment at the contact. She was just staring at him now, grinning. “Well?”

He blinked.

“You don’t got a name, or--”

“Hey Juggie!” Archie busted out onto the front patio then paused abruptly when he noticed the girl. He cleared his throat. “Betty.”

The blonde haired girl suddenly turned a fiery scarlet from her roots to her shoes and got up from where she was sitting beside Jughead.

“Hi Arch.” She seemed to gain composure of herself again, shifting her weight impatiently while twirling the ends of both pigtails in her hands. “Guess what? I came over cuz Polly and I just got super soakers. We have extra if you wanna try.”

Archie scoffed in the most boyish manner possible, and it was his turn to flush.

“Like we’re gonna play super soakers with a couple of _girls_. You’d just lose.”

“I think you’re just scared cuz you know we’d win.” Betty grinned challengingly, and for Jughead it was more than his poor young, awkward soul could handle. He would rather die right there than admit that he’d love nothing more than to lose a match of super soakers to Betty Cooper today.

She suddenly turned her gaze on him, as if reading his mind, and he quickly looked down at the bright white tips of his Chuck Taylor’s, mortified.

“Bye Juggie! You can come over to my house if ya get bored.”

“He doesn’t wanna play with girls!” Archie shrieked and stomped as she skipped back toward her house, cackling with delight.

Once she disappeared inside, Archie promptly looked around himself and then leaned in very close.

“OK so I didn’t wanna say I wanted to play with girls, but they got super soakers and it’s really fun at their house so when we go over you say it was your idea.”

\---

_Several days later . . ._

\---

Jughead and Archie were sprawled out along the floor of their tree house with various comic books scattered all around them.

“This one’s really scary.” Archie gulped, face and eyes into a Spidey comic with the savage, needle-toothed visage of Venom gracing the cover. “My dad don’t let me read these yet.”

“My dad don’t care.” Jughead shrugged, thumbing through a Wolverine spin off.

Both boys squawked and scrambled noisily when the door to their tree house suddenly pushed itself open from the bottom, flicking some comics through the air and catapulting them against the wall. This was a rare occurrence considering their parents always knocked before pushing the door up, but the mystery was quickly solved when Betty’s smiling head popped up through the entrance, beaded arms tapping on the wooden planks.

“Whatcha guys doin’ up here? I’m bored.”

“BETTY!” Archie roared, leaping to his feet. “GET OUTTA HERE! NO GIRLS ALLOWED!” He bellowed in a desperate bid to maintain the sacred childhood tradition of gender boundaries. “This is OUR tree house!”

“So? You used MY super soakers and ate MY chips a few days ago. Why can’t I come up?”

“ **No** Betty, this is a boys only club for me and Juggie. Besides, girls don’t like comic books.”

“I do TOO like comic books” Betty retorted hotly, growing flustered and hurt. “Wonder Woman’s my favourite.”

“She’s DC, WE like MARVEL.”

“Come on let me in Archie!”

“No Betty, boys only!”

And upon viewing her blotched red face, angry and ready to burst into tears, Jughead suddenly blurted:

“I don’t mind.”

The warring pair paused in astonishment, Betty thrilled, Archie betrayed. Jughead thought his heart was going to pound its way out of his chest as it thudded in his ears. _Why did he say that?_ Archie looked desperately at his friend in a last ditch effort.

“Really, Jug? But I thought this was **our** place.”

“Well it is but I think Betty can come to. We DID use her super soakers, it’s only fair.”

Archie sighed loudly, sitting back on his heels in resignation as Betty gleefully scurried into the tree house. She kicked the door closed once she’d dragged herself in.

“Oops . . .” she frowned once she got to her feet as she realized her dress had hitched on the wood and a long strand of snag was trailing from a hole in the skirt. Archie huffed through his nose in long-suffering disapproval and huddled up in a corner moodily with his Spiderman comic as Jughead tentatively unhooked the string from the wood.

And thus their triad of companionship began to be woven by those first few tentative stitches of awkward childhood encounters: an ice cream Jughead had never asked for but had gotten anyway, a water gun fight that Archie pretended he never wanted but secretly had, the ultimate betrayal of the boys club, and a thread of pink hitched to the bottom of Archie Andrews’ tree house that was freed by the trembling fingers of a young Jughead Jones.

\---

_Alright, this is my first shot at writing Bughead so have mercy on me and let me know if I should keep going with this. <3 Much love!_


	3. Liking "Like That"

_"Left alone with my heart_  
_I'm learning how to love you"_  
  
\---

Their alliance was now officially established, and Betty had taken to seeking Jughead out. He found that he was also helpless to stop it from happening. He couldn’t be blamed really. She had this magnetism - she pulled people toward her in the gentlest way possible. It started with her coming out and sitting on her front porch while the two of them were waiting for Archie. He’d be standing off in front of Archie’s house all awkward and quiet and she’d bawl out:

“Whatcha standing over there for? Come over!”

Jughead was very hesitant at first. He wasn’t quick to trust anyone, and he found himself to be agonizingly shy around Betty. It was a difficult hurdle to overcome in the beginning. The true defining breakthrough moment when he knew that he could trust her was her reaction to Hot Dog, and his reaction to her.

Archie had already thoroughly gotten the Hot Dog seal of approval, and the dog was just as much a regular at the Andrews residence as he was. Fred Andrews had nearly dropped dead from a stroke when he looked out the front window one day to see the boys struggling halfway up the climb to the tree house with Hot Dog’s huge bulk mashed between them, terrified, and the two boys teetering dangerously close to falling. He rushed outside to break up this instance of madness and promptly ranted at them on the dangers of what they'd done, but Archie’s guilty and mournful expression stilled his lecture.

“But dad, he wants to come up. He cries when we go up without him and he’s down here alone. We feel bad. We can’t leave him down there, he gets so sad.”

This lead to Fred Andrew’s hysterical patented Hot Dog transport method in which one boy would attach a harness tied to a piece of rope to Hot Dog and the other would  scurry to the top with the other end of the rope and pull the sheepdog up.

Needless to say, anyone who was going to get in with Jughead and Archie would have to be Hot Dog approved.

Jughead knew that some girls were not enthralled by the messiness and drooling of dogs, but Betty really didn’t take long to prove her merit to Hot Dog. When she first caught him waiting outside for Archie with the dog she rushed out of the house screaming “Oh look at him! You brought him! He looks like a big shaggy carpet! Aww aren’t you a cutie? Do you like belly rubs?” To which the sheepdog promptly rolled himself onto his back submissively, waiting. She dropped to her knees and began scratching enthusiastically while chanting “Who’s a good boy? WHO’S a good boy?” She turned to Jughead to comment that "I've seen you guys pull him up into the tree house in that thing Archie's dad made." Her voice got very tiny and high at the end before she burst out laughing and Jughead felt distinctly mortified. "Oh my it looks so funny but it's sweet that you do that for him." 

After that day Betty began to make a habit of bringing out various nips of meats and cheeses to her front patio, luring the dog over to her, and thus luring Jughead as well. They would take turns playing ball with him or monkey in the middle. Jug would watch in amusement as Betty would tumble around with the dog on the grass, or put his huge front paws on her shoulders and start to pretend they were dancing. Slowly but surely, Betty persuaded Jughead to come over to her place regularly.

She’d beckon him over to her front porch and immediately she’d begin chatting away at him. At first it would be one sided, and he would sit there in awe, mortified by this pit of anxiety and something else twisting in his chest. She’d stop and gawk at him and ask: “Whatcha getting all red for?” Or “What are you afraid of? Speak. I mean what do you think I’m gonna do to you? It’s only me.”

Once he began responding in snippets he opened the floodgate to chaos. She began demanding all kinds of bizarre information or asking him random questions:  “Choose a super power, but ONLY ONE.” Or “What’s your favourite food? I mean if you were only allowed to eat one thing for the rest of your life that would be it.” Or “What would you be, a dog or a cat?” And she’d scrunch up her nose. “A bird? Really? Why?”

The worst was when she demanded his first name.  
To say he hated it would be an understatement.  
The last thing he wanted to be was another version of his dad.   
  
“It’s Jughead.”  
  
“Nobody names a kid Jughead. Don’t lie.”  
  
“I don’t want to say it.”  
  
“Don’t make me ask Archie.”  
  
“He won’t tell.”  
  
“Fine.” The maniacal giggle and sly look in her eyes worried him but there wasn’t enough time to react before she was upon him, digging fingers into his ribs and tickling with the expertise that only a younger sibling could learn from an older one. He roared – truly roared until he coughed, hacked and begged in tears for mercy.  
  
“I will if you tell me!”  
  
“Never--”

“Tell me!”

“No--” he gasped, but when she held fast and kept up the attack relentlessly it became too much. If only for the fear of pissing his own pants did he surrender and breathlessly rasp “Forsythe.”

She paused, tentative, still ready to continue in case this was a rouse.

“Say it again?” She insisted, persuading him by wiggling her fingers where they were still lodged under his arms.

He was gasping, blood red, and not just from the laughter. Her hands had been all over him and were still on him now. As if that hadn’t done enough, now she knew his real name. He wanted to sink through the patio into the ground.  
He hung his head low.  
  
“Forsythe.” He said quietly, regaining his ability to breathe. She removed her hands in a gesture of compassion. Now he felt heavy with embarrassment.  “That’s my first name.”

“Not it’s not.” She grinned, moving in again, but he put his hands up.  
  
“I swear, I swear. What, do you want to call my mom?” He guffawed. Then he visibly cringed. “I really, really hate it.”

“WHY?!” She yelled. “Your name is really _Forsythe_?” A gigantic smile broke across her face, and she put her hands to her face excitedly when he nodded in shame. “That’s got to be the coolest name I ever heard!” She leapt up. “It sounds like the name of some cool action hero – you know like the ones who only have to go by one name? Or no no no like James Bond.” She turned back on for effect then looked over her shoulder dramatically. “The names Jones. _Forsythe_ Jones.” She quipped coolly, wiggling her eyebrows, and he couldn’t help it. He bark laughed.

“Forsythe. Forsythe!” She spat out the name with bravado, striking animated battle stances each time she said it.

“Enough Betty, OK? I don’t want the whole neighbourhood knowing!”

“Oops, sorry . . . “

In the beginning for him it was pure curiosity: a chance to observe a girl close up and try to figure out what all the fuss was about. He found out pretty quickly what was so great about Betty Cooper, at least. Amongst other things she **did** love comic books. She loved reading in general, something else they had in common.

She always had great stories that her mom would order from other places: Japanese fables, Inuit folklore, Australian legendary creatures. She always had new riddles, new tales of amazement, prompting “Hey did you hear about this?” with unbridled enthusiasm as she brandished the latest info to hand on. She started lending him books, initiating an impromptu book club for two. She was uninhibited and spoke with exuberance, reaching her hands out to the sun in a languid stretch or pulling hysterical faces that only she could make while asking “d’ya think djinns exist?” or “Jughead, if YOU got in a cocoon, what would you want to come out as?” or “OK, show me the stupidest face you can make **right now** and I’ll see if I can beat it. First one who laughs loses.” He envied how she could express herself so freely, but she was helping him come out of his shell.

With that said, the dynamic would always transform quite abruptly when there were three.  
He noticed a change in her every time Archie would arrive. It had always been there, but it took him some time to catch on – to know her enough to see it.

She would slouch or lounge around Jughead like a house cat, chatting endlessly, unselfconsciously, and then she’d catch a glimpse of Archie putting on his sneakers to come outside.

She’d bolt upright.

Sometimes she’d leap right up from where she was sitting just to adjust the skirt of her dress fussily, color rising to her face. He was so perplexed by this. Why did she take pains to hide parts of herself from Archie, of all people?

It amazed him sometimes how oblivious Archie could be about it, but then again, he never saw her before she changed. She was still Betty, no matter what. She was just . . . Betty lite.

It both fascinated and disheartened him. It really bothered him in the beginning. She became more restrained. Almost shy. Why? Didn’t she know that she was great as she was? Sometimes he even missed who she was when Archie wasn’t there, because he knew her reactions would be more loud, spontaneous, animated. Didn’t she realize they were all close friends and that Archie loved her no matter what?  
  
He knew this, because he knew Archie.  
There was nobody in the world who dared say they knew him better.

He’d known Archie as long as his own given family, but Archie was _chosen_ family – the brother he picked. He trusted that kid with his life. Even more importantly than that, he trusted him with Hot Dog. His dad and Fred grew up together so when they both had children they naturally brought them together. That was that. From therein, Jug was unofficially adopted by the Andrews clan. Archie would torment his dad and beg nearly to the brink of tears sometimes to have sleepovers (sheepdog and all) so they could have all night gaming marathons or other shenanigans. If his dad said no because “my God, you have to let Jughead’s family see him sometimes, Arch”, the redhead would try to convince Jug to sneak up into the tree house and stay anyway. (Sometimes he did.) But that’s just who they were, and Betty had come into the picture not long after he became a staple at the Andrews house. So what was the deal? Archie was family. Chosen family, just like Betty.  
  
Where did she go? Why did she get a little quieter, grow a little more self-conscious, dilute when he got near?

Back then he could never understand why.  
As he got older he completely understood.  
He understood, but he wished he didn’t.  
  
That glint of both excitement and terror right before she came face to face with Archie would send her eyes glittering like fine jewels. Sometimes it made him feel like something was pinching the air from him, tying small knots in his throat and gut. Try as he might to combat those feelings, he felt a little something deflate in him each time – a little less wind in the sails.  
  
_Oh.  
  
_ He had to wonder.  
What was it about Archie?  
Or what wasn’t it about himself?  
He knew well enough already, Archie was special. He was worthwhile, kind, fun and full of love – what wasn’t there to like? So he found himself looking inward and pondering: what don’t I have?  
And he found himself thinking, maybe that’s it.  
My family is kind of poor, they’re pretty broken, and when I look at other people’s families they aren’t like mine. Maybe that made me weird. I don’t dress the same way people do. I don’t talk or make friends as easy as Archie and Betty. Maybe I’m missing something.  
Maybe I’m missing something that Betty sees in Archie.  
  
And all of this added up to him coming to the sad conclusion that  
_Maybe I’m just not special._  
  
Whatever the reason, over time Betty’s feelings for Archie became painfully obvious: easier to read than that span of blue in the sky. It ate away at him inside a little bit each time, but he loved them both. What could he do? He was too young to know what to do with the feelings he had for her, and by the time he had some of it sorted out and had built up enough confidence to be himself around her, she was already looking at Archie. He wouldn’t even know the first thing about what to do with these feelings, anyway. But he still kicked himself for never having that charisma, that ease, that ability to just express himself the way that her and Archie did. He came by this deficit honestly.  
He had learned how to be more cautious with his feelings and hold his tongue at home.  
Because of that, he was now at an impasse.  
He had missed his small window of opportunity, and now her sights were set elsewhere.  
Who was he to interfere with what she wanted – what could make her happy?  
She loved Archie. She loved both boys, but he just knew she loved Archie.  
  
And it felt like someone pulled a tiny thread from the seam of his soul every time she changed, lit up with that look in her eye when Archie approached.  
It chipped away at him because he realized he had been the same way when he was first getting to know Betty. He hadn’t been himself. He used to be petrified to speak to her, stared at her wide eyed, flustered, sweating. She wore him down enough for him to be able to exist comfortably around her, but it was still there.  
He cared so much about both Betty and Archie – they were his world. He would be able to stomach it better if he saw some sign of it from Arch, but the true twist of the knife was that he didn’t.  
Archie was Archie, no matter who was around. If Archie had carried around some semblance of that for Betty then Jughead would have been able to see it, but Archie wasn’t one to hide. There was deep love – friendship love, but what Betty harbored for Archie even back then Jughead didn’t see it at all in his red-headed companion. This is what despaired him most.

Betty plainly loved Archie. Jughead had admitted only to himself that he was smitten by Betty and would probably go to the grave before someone pried that from his lips. Archie simply wanted to spend every waking moment with Jughead, who at that age seemed to be the bromance love of his life.

It frustrated him to no end. It kept him up at night. Why couldn’t things be simple? Why did anyone have to like anyone? Just feeling friendship was so much easier than this. He hated it. In an act of desperation while his father was gone to work, he struggled to pry these thoughts from his mind and allow them to pass out of his mouth.  
To his mom.  
He wanted to die of embarrassment, but he just couldn’t stand it anymore. He approached her while she was folding laundry and he stood there for God only knows how long, trying, failing, willing himself to find a way to have this horrible conversation. He couldn’t think of any smooth way to get this going and no matter which way he sliced it he was going to be painfully humiliated. So he just broke the silence, nearly scaring the life out of his mother who squealed in surprise and sent a dress shirt flying when he stuttered:

“So um I uh . . .  I think Betty likes Archie, but Archie wants to spend all his time with me.”

“Oh, my God, Juggie. I might have to change my pants. What have I told you about slinking around like that and just talking out of nowhere?” She recollected the shirt from the floor and gave it a flick. “Hoo! OK. So anyway, let me try to make some sense out of what you're worried about here. Is it that Archie doesn’t like Betty?”

“No he does like her. As a friend.” His face burned. This was agony. “Not like _that_ though.”

His mother straightened up and looked at him in astonishment. Then she let out a short spurt of laughter.

“Aren’t you guys a little young to be _liking like that_?” She snorted, having to pause where she’d been folding a towel to double over and succumb to laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – it’s just – it’s you, and -- never in a million years would I think you’d talk to me about something like _this_ \--”

“Do you think I want to mom?” He flamed, offended that she’d have to gall to laugh in the face of his utter helplessness. “I don’t. But what if someone’s feelings get hurt?”

“You mean what if **Betty’s** feelings get hurt.” She smiled knowingly, continuing to fold. Jughead delivered a suspicious leer.

“Why do you say it like that.”

“So Betty likes Archie. Archie likes you . . .” Her smile broke wide open as she withheld laughter thinly. “Who do you like, Juggie? Like _that_.”

“MOM!!” He roared, storming back toward his room in retreat from the God awful embarrassment of the conversation.

“Oh no Juggie I’m sorry, I really am – I’ve just never seen you worked up like this before! It’s sweet that you care about your friends. OK?” She came into the room to find him sitting atop his bed, sheets wrapped tightly about him like fluffy armor. “And you don’t have to answer the question I asked you.”

He was still glaring suspiciously from his fortress of bed sheets.

“ _And,_ I know Archie doesn’t like you, like you. I think?”

He encased his head completely in the blankets.

“Mom. You’re the worst.”

She peeled the sheets back far enough to see his eyes, sitting tentatively on the edge of his bed.

“Listen to me now, I'll stop. I want to be honest with you, so try to remember it. The only thing that I can tell you concretely is this. When it comes to liking someone, not much makes sense. But the bottom line is you can’t control who you love, sweetheart.” She got up then, standing still and quiet for a brief moment as if in a silent epiphany. Quietly, her voice returned a little smaller than before: “You don’t get to choose who you fall in love with, whether it makes sense to or not.” She was no longer looking at him then, seeming somewhere else with the ghost of a bittersweet smile on her face.  

He thought he saw her swipe discreetly beneath her eye as she walked out of the room.

\---

 _I hope that by now many of you understand why I have chosen to write on this topic and include all of these reflective blurbs._  
_Many people complained that Bughead on the show was "rushed" but the truth behind their relationship is that they are childhood friends._  
_Betty, Jughead and Archie are lifelong, childhood friends. There's a lot of history to play with there. ;)_

_Hope you're enjoying it so far, let me know with a comment or note! <3_


	4. Navigating Choppy Seas

 

 

 _"At night I come home after they fall asleep  
_ _Like a stumbling ghost I haunt these halls"_

_\---_

While his life at Archie’s house was that of a regular, warm upbringing, the same could not be said for Jughead’s life with his nuclear family.

As the years began to bleed together Jughead found that his parents were frequently preoccupied with work or the erosion of their ability to be under the same roof together, therefore his only solace was the comfort of Archie’s tree house. His fondest childhood memories were shaped on the Andrews premises – SNES marathons, comic book debates, water balloon fights with the Cooper sisters, sloppy joe’s from a can brought out on ribbed plates embellished with garish flowers courtesy of chef Fred.

Jughead had only ever felt a permanent part of something under that roof.  
To this day, he still felt a sting of guilt and a weight on his chest whenever he saw that trailer, before he stepped inside it. If it weren’t for his mom and Jellybean, he hated to admit that it might never have felt like a _home_.

There were spells of ceasefire at his own place, promises that later dissolved like neglected spider webs clinging to the walls of that trailer. There were more happy memories earlier on, before his parents had come to the realization that they might well hate each other. The other notable source of joy and life came into Jughead’s world in the form of a little sister, who from the very first moment he held her he felt fierce protectiveness, crippling responsibility, and an all-consuming love. If she hadn’t have come along, he wasn’t sure he would have had the strength to make it out alive. Her arrival made him determined: he would come out the other side of this train wreck because he had to for Jellybean.  

Like the eye of the hurricane there were instances of calm that imitated perfection with his family. Trips to Pop’s in which their laughter ricocheted the walls, or running wild and screeching happily in the park with Hot Dog in tow. Memories of Jellybean waiting for the tide to come in at the beach and screaming in a hysteric retreat when the icy froth of ocean lapped her bare feet. His father would come barking with laughter as he snatched her up and into the air in a giggling bundle. Hot Dog would be racing along beside them and yapping excitedly, and his mother would be grinning from a book or helping him shape his sandcastles.

These were glimpses of false hope when he almost believed they were a real family. But then someone – usually his father – poked holes in the illusion with lies or booze, and the tentative childhood dream would deflate like a punctured lung. It was after these crushing moments that Jughead would flee, licking his wounds, and find solace in the Andrews household. If he stayed for days, Fred understood.

Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third learned a crucial piece of information about life fairly early on.

Every single person in this world is painfully vulnerable.

Some just get better at hiding it.

He was no stranger to this parlay and after being let down enough times where it counted most in his early years, he became a self-taught master.

Jughead was accustomed to being the silent observer, blending effectively into the backdrop as people went about their lives noisily around him, attracting attention. He had always preferred a more unobtrusive approach to life, especially in public. He was shaped that way after years of learning to be that way in practice at home.

His role as a piece of the backdrop was one that came naturally to him. When he was very little he had techniques that helped him survive some of the choppier seas on the waters he navigated in his own home.

_Read a book. Write in one. Wear your headphones. Turn up the TV. Get engrossed in a game. Play with Hot Dog. Cry into his fur when you’re alone. Distract and protect Jellybean. Pretend things aren’t smashing into oblivion down the hall like glass plates, hinges on doors, or your parents’ marriage._

He would hear terse words being spat through teeth and the urge to disappear would consume him. He would close his eyes tight and imagine he had the powers of Super Mario when the voices of his parents rose. Super Mario 3: Tanooki suit. Press B and down, become a statue.  Become a statue, and the enemies just walk on by.

_Don’t care too hard. Don’t love too fiercely. Don’t listen too carefully. Keep your distance._

He never wanted to live that way. Inside he screamed out for connections he could depend on or trust. He wouldn’t dare let on to Archie and Betty just how much their friendship meant to him. He couldn’t help but love his sister and mother with every fabric of his being. He couldn’t help but love his father, despite the things he did which warranted no such favour.

His father did most of this to himself, if not all. But the worst thing about it was that he wanted to get better. He wanted to be a better dad, a better husband. He wanted to, but he didn’t know how.

Over time, he forced Jughead to learn the errant lesson that you could only truly depend on yourself – that every person you invite in makes you vulnerable. When they let you down, when they leave, it takes a chunk out of you that you won’t get back. Terrified and spinning from an already insurmountable array of disappointment and loss, young Jughead moved through life by adding layers to his armour.

By the time the worst day of his life dropped from the center of the universe in a vicious attempt to squash his spirit, he was no stranger to damage control. Middle school was a battleground of emotions as it was, but this was a day that no amount of practice could prepare him for.

He remembered coming home that day and feeling a sense of foreboding; that the climate, the air in the trailer was somehow changed into something ominous. He immediately knew something was off when his dog failed to meet him at the door. His mother wasn’t home. His sister wasn’t either. The house was a mess. His dad sat in that filthy armchair, nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. By the thick scent of liquor in the room, it wasn’t his first.

Dreading a conversation, Jughead opted to scan the house independently. Then he circled the yard fruitlessly, a knot of anxiety and ridiculous fear bubbling up inside him.

_Mom and Jellybean must have left for a little while and taken him for a ride, for a walk . . ._

Resignation.  
He couldn’t just wait to assume; if something had happened, if Hot Dog had gotten out, there was no time to wait. He could be taken in by a stranger, attacked by another dog, hit by a car.  
He had to know for sure.  
  
“Dad?” He found his voice tentatively, and his father didn’t turn his head, merely took another sip.

“Mmm.”

“Where’s Hot Dog? Did mom and Jellybean -- ”

“He’s gone.”

A spasm of fear, and he felt a bolt of nausea run him through quickly. Gone? His mind began to panic. Gone where? How? Gone as in dead? As in run away?

“I don’t understand . . .”

“Look . . . kiddo . . .” His father actually got up on his feet, wavering slightly with the effort. He looked positively grim and most worrisome of all, remorseful. “Your old man got some bad news a few days ago. Might as well tell you now . . . your mother knows. I’m . . .  being laid off. Fred’s given me a grace period to try to find another job, but there’s no guarantee I’ll have another job in a few weeks. So things around here are going to be – are already tight for a while. Son we can’t afford any luxuries right now, and that includes feeding the dog.”

Jughead felt a weakness in his knees, feigned attitude by slinking back against the doorframe, folding his arms, closing his eyes. It was all for show. He genuinely didn’t know if he could stand right now with the world spinning.

“Dad. What are you telling me right now?”

“I’m sorry Jug.” His father was filling up. His red eyes were brimming and he swiped at his nose. “I had to. If I have to pick between getting food for you and Jellybean or that dog – I did what I had to do. Your mother didn’t agree but I have to make the tough decisions around here. I knew you wouldn’t stand for it so I got busy while you were at school. Put out an ad and someone from a few towns over was nice enough to adopt him.” Jughead was now just staring blankly ahead, ready to cry, ready to scream, but comatose on the outside. Just staring at the wall, hearing his ears ring, strangled by this ultimate betrayal. His father finally broke down, a sob escaping his mouth. “I’m so sorry, Jug. I’m so sorry but I had to. It’s better this way, boy. You know that, right? I knew it’d break your heart if he went to the pound, so I found a nice family to take him. At least you know he’ll be loved -- ”

“He IS loved!!!” His voice was raw and thin from the lump in his throat, and his father’s ashamed and guilty face was blurring now. “BY ME!! He’s MY DOG, and he loves me more than you EVER HAVE! How could you do that to him?! He’s probably so scared! How could you do this, dad?! What did you do?!”

His father was coming to him now, arms reaching for him pathetically, shoulders convulsing, taking huge gulps of air. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, it wasn’t easy but it’s for the best right now--”

“FOR WHO?!” Jughead shoved away his father’s attempt to hold him, sending him stumbling for balance. “FOR YOU?! Isn’t it always, dad? Doesn’t it always come to this?! One of us – ALL of us always pay for the choices **you** make.”

“Forsythe please don’t--”

“ _Don’t_ call me that.” Jughead hissed, ripping open the front door, and his father lurched forward and put his hand against it to prevent his leaving.

“Wait don’t go -- Look this is only temporary; I can fix this I just need time! Don’t leave just _listen to me_ for a minute! Please!”

“I don’t want to listen to more of your lies. All -- you do -- is **lie**. You can’t fix anything, especially yourself!” He hurled at his father spitefully through clenched teeth, eyes streaming.

“Jug--”

“Just don’t.” He spat with bitter venom as he forced his way through the front door, storming across the front lawn in a dream-like haze.

“ _Where are you going?”_ His dad bawled, hanging haphazardly from the door frame.

He couldn’t respond. He didn’t have the answer.  
\---

It was already starting to get dark.

He had walked so long in a blind rage, reliving it over and over: The reek of booze, the state of the house, the greeting that never came, that dazed, bloodshot desperation of his father who stared out at him from under a thick veil of inebriation.

He just kept walking, stifling the eruption that threatened to undo him, but he was in public. Home wasn’t home, and Archie and his father had left after school to visit his mom for the weekend.

He had nowhere to go.

He had no one.

He came to a halt and realized he was standing outside of Archie’s house.  
He was trying so hard not to let anyone see, to keep his composure, but he heard his own breath quivering out of him unevenly. He held his hands out in front of him, saw his fingers trembling, and promptly bawled them into fists that he stuffed roughly into his pockets.

He blinked and in that flicker behind his eyelids he saw Hot Dog’s excited visage parting the curtain in the living room window of the trailer, eager to welcome him home from school.

He put a hand to his eyes, pinching, willing away the sting. He looked about himself, desperate for an exit, and he found one in the wooden planks hammered to the trunk of the tree leading up to his sanctuary. He climbed up to the tree house, numb, and sat in the fading light.  
  
It was in this miniscule cocoon of safety that he let himself go.

He had dared to love his dog unconditionally, trust him implicitly, and depended on his constancy.  
Now he was gone for good: torn from their lives and passed on like junk at a yard sale after years of companionship. Abandoned. God only knew what the poor dog must have felt. He couldn’t think about it, could not bear it.  
  
He hadn’t even had the decency to let him say goodbye.  
Once again, his father had pilfered him blind.  
  
The creak of the tree house lid lifting startled him deeply, and he wished he could make himself small. He was immediately defensive, revolted by the idea of having nowhere to run, of being trapped up there with his drunk father. Had he found him? He didn’t dare turn to look. He didn’t open his eyes. He just awaited his fate, already too inundated to feel much further.  
  
A stillness returned, and for a length nothing came.  
Then the touch of a hand, so tentative and unsure, landed on his arm.

“Juggie?”

Oh God.  
It was her.  
He willed that he would collapse in on himself like a black hole and disappear.  
The humiliation of his dad – the very thought of confessing to Betty what he’d done, how far he’d let himself go. He didn’t want to, because that would make it too real. If he could just keep it contained in that trailer, he could live a different life out here. But now that venom was leaking out of the cracks of his home, and it was bleeding into the other parts of his life, threatening to taint them. He had become so skilled at hiding his home life from her, from Archie. He could just be a kid around them. He didn’t want this . . .

“Jughead.” Her voice was a whisper, crisp and clear like water. She had moved closer now, and the hand that had been resting on his arm traveled up its length to his shoulder before carefully finding his face. She placed a hand against it and then promptly withdrew. He was certain she felt the dampness there.

Well, this was it.  
After years of finding ways to avoid bringing his friends to his house, of mentioning as little as possible of his home life, of hiding his father’s progressive descent into alcoholism, it was going to happen.  
She was going to find out, and things would never be the same.  
  
He heard her shuffling herself around then felt her settle in behind him carefully.

“Why are you up here by yourself like this?” She whispered. “It’s getting dark.”

“I can’t go back home.” His response was barely audible.

“Why, what happened?” She started stroking his hair in an attempt to console him. “Please tell me. You know you can talk to me, right? I’m scared. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

He kept his eyes closed, still lying back on to her, willing himself to find the courage to pass on this information without breaking down. Facing the fact that saying it out loud would solidify it; make the events of the past five hours real.

 _This is Betty,_ he counselled himself, reassuring. _You’re safe with Betty._

“Dad.” He finally choked at length. “He got rid of Hot Dog.”

A static silence consumed the air before Betty managed to find her voice again:

“What?” she rasped. “What do you mean, got rid of?”

“Just gave him away while I was at school. He’s gone.” He responded thickly. “Didn’t even let me say goodbye.” His voice tapered off quietly, pinched off by tears. The silence was longer this time, but Betty’s hands had stilled their work on his hair, and they had begun to tremble. He felt her body suddenly give a great heave, and she hiccuped a sob as she sunk down close beside him, curling about him as she gathered him up in her arms. Her body convulsed with sobs as she spooned him, and he felt the nape of his neck grow damp with her tears.

She didn’t press and ask further questions, demand to know the reason behind this tragedy. She simply shared in his shock and despair. She mourned the loss of a friend with him, a friend they had shared and now lost, and it was exactly what he had needed at that time.

Later when his mother discovered their location, a frantic, blotched face consumed with relief and a pair of clutching arms, Betty begged Jug to call her when he got home.  
  
_Home._  
He realized that what he had back in that tree house felt a lot more like a home than what he was being brought back to with a definitive sense of dread. His father was mercifully blacked out in his armchair and Jellybean insisted on staying in Jughead’s room that night. She was snuggled up against him fast asleep while Jughead spoke in hushed tones to Betty until the sun started peeking in through his curtains and she whispered:

“My mom is up. I gotta go, but you should come over. You know . . . before your dad gets up.”

“I will.” He sighed into the phone, rubbing his face tiredly. He then glanced down to see the peaceful sleeping face of his sister. His insides twisted at the idea of leaving her here. He knew what it was like now, being alone with the two of them in that trailer.

“Actually I can’t. Jellybean is going to need me today.”

“OK, I understand. Well call me later please, or I’m gonna worry. Well . . . I’m gonna worry anyway. So don’t forget.”  
  
“I won’t forget.”  
  
“You know no matter what happens you always got me, right? Me and Archie - we’re your family too you know.”

He tried his best not to cry.

“I know. Bye, Betts. Thanks for . . . uh, everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Say hi to Jellybean for me. She can come over later too if she wants, we can babysit her over here. Bye, Juggie.”

He hung up and found himself overwhelmed. Last night he had never felt more alone in his life, and then suddenly Betty was there and seemed to miraculously pull him back from that precipice of darkness.

Even from a young age, she always knew what to do and what was right.  
And he didn’t think there would ever be a time when he could adequately put into words what it had meant to him, to have had her simply come up to the tree house and stroke his hair, hug him close and cry with him.  
  
When he thought he had no one, he realized that he had Betty.  
_You’re safe with Betty._

\---


	5. To Smithereens

__

_I saw your picture_  
_It made me sorry_  
_For all the things_  
_I never said_  
_It seems that you_  
_Have cause to worry_  
_It seems that you_  
_Don't wish me well_

_\---_

Archie had found out about the chaos and agony of the past two days from Betty via telephone, mercifully. Jughead was actually relieved he would not have to go through the painstaking ordeal of revisiting everything that had happened on that fetid Friday evening. His red-headed friend had rushed out of his house on Sunday afternoon to meet him on the sidewalk when he showed up in front of Archie's house. His friend collapsed into him with arms wide, face blotched with tears and snot bubbling.

  
"Oh my God Jughead, I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I'm so sorry." He clasped Jughead as if gravity no longer applied and if he let go his best friend would float into the void of the heavens. Although embarrassed and self-conscious by this open display of affection, it touched Jughead deeply to know the depth of his best friend's care. It was nice to know that you were loved, even if the whole neighbourhood did, too.

  
"Sorry, I'm --" Archie stood back, swiping at the mess of his face with his sweater sleeves as his jaw trembled. "I just can't believe how much stuff changed in a weekend. I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I never even got to say bye to Hot Dog."

  
Jughead felt that damn lump threatening to claw it's way up his throat.

  
"Don't feel bad about it Arch. I never got to either."

  
This caused his friend to erupt into a fresh batch of sobs, holding him again on the curb of the sidewalk. One thing could be said readily about Archie: he was never very good at hiding how he felt. This made him an excellent best friend because he withheld very little and when he did he was a terrible liar about it.

  
Jughead both admired and envied this about Archie. Fred Andrews had instilled such virtuous and genuine traits in his son. Jughead had unfortunately inherited the broken gifts of evasion and concealment from his own dad, his emotions constantly protected by a barb-sharp wit and a talent for deflection. Like the jagged edge of a broken bottle, he tended to prick those who dared to attempt to reach in and seek the truth about his feelings. Not Archie. His best friend was open and wholesome, healthy and adjusted in his capacity for expression. Archie finally sucked in a few steadying breaths and released him. Out of the corner of his eye Jughead glanced the shift of curtain in the window of Betty's room. She hadn't come down yet and he concluded that she would keep her distance after being so present with him over the weekend. She would give the boys their space to go over the tumultuous events of the past few days, and as much as he appreciated her respecting their time together, he missed her company already.

  
"I don't know how I'm ever going to make it up to you for this." Archie said thickly, wiping at the now damp fabric of Jughead's left shoulder. Jug mustered a weak smile and shook his head.

  
"There's nothing to make up, Arch. You went to see your mom."

  
"But still." He sniffled. "I feel awful. Listen Jug, today is going to be your day. I have the whole thing planned out. Dad's going to have a barbeque, his homemade cheeseburgers -- your favorite! Dad even let me get the new Mortal Kombat game for us to play after supper. We stopped by the comic shop and picked us both up a copy of the new Deadpool Volume 4 so we’ll have lots to talk about in the treehouse tonight."

  
"You guys really didn't have to do all that-"

  
"Yes, we did." Fred Andrews walked down from the patio steps to grasp Jughead in a one armed embrace, bringing him against his side. "Anything to make my pseudo-son's day after one hell of a weekend -- even if it means buying an M rated game just this once." Fred then put his hands on Jughead's shoulders and gave him a studying gaze. "This goes without saying Jug, but mi casa es tu casa. I know things are difficult at home and I want you to know that you're welcome here as long as you want, any time. Even if Archie's not here. You're the son I chose, remember? Don't you forget it."

  
Jughead ‘s vision blurred and the tears that accumulated there threatened to overflow under that stern, loving gaze. Fred had always said that to him growing up, and the reminder now hit home more than ever. All he could do was nod gratefully, trying not to cry under the weight of all of this genuine love. It was one of the few sources of it that he had in the world. Fred gave his right shoulder a solid clap and began to lead him in, guiding Archie with his other hand.

  
"Alright boys let’s get to it, I don't want any burnt burgers on my hands and I need an honorary veggie cutter."  
\---

_Behind the victim_  
_Behind the trouble_  
_Are all the things_  
_You've not expressed_  
_I see you standing behind your mother_  
_I see you hiding behind her dress_

\---  
Time began bleeding together as Jughead found himself taking Fred up on his offer on the regular. Home life at the trailer was increasingly difficult and Jughead frequently found himself at the Andrews residence or the Cooper house with Jellybean. Betty had taken to his little sister, thrilling at the opportunity to experience the big sister life for herself, and Jellybean always looked forward to seeing her. Between the chaos of his own home and the normalcy experienced between Betty and Archie's houses, Jughead managed to quilt together a semi-normal existence for himself and Jellybean while his parent's marriage crumbled with increasing finality. Sure there were broken dishes, screaming matches, and bouts of peeling his blacked-out father off of the filthy floor of the trailer as his mother disappeared for days at a time, but there were also pool parties and treehouse sleepovers on the other side of town in his other world.

His friends knew his life and Jellybean's were coming apart at the seams in their Southside existence, so they attempted to compensate by fashioning a cozy and safe existence for the Jones children to run to. Betty developed a strong fondness for Jellybean and often pleaded to have permission for her to stay at her house, resulting in side-by-side sleepovers. Jellybean would be at Betty’s while Jughead camped out at Archie’s. But it was like wrapping a bandage around a festering wound; one could easily cover up the damage so that you would not have to look at it’s grotesqueness, but there was a deep infection underneath it all. Covering it up and ignoring it didn’t make it go away, and it became more difficult to hide from and ignore with each passing day.

The day arrived when it all came to a head, and there would be no bandage that could mask the pervasiveness of this wound. It promised to poison everyone involved deep within their very bones and blood.

Jughead was back at the trailer late in the evening with Jellybean in his arms, whimpering. She always ran to his room during the worst of it, seeking out some semblance of comfort. Although he had turned the TV on loudly in a piteous attempt to dampen the yelling it was failing miserably. The screaming was overpowering, then the sobbing, then worst of all, sudden silence. He perked his head up, Jellybean still snivelling with her face buried deep in his shirt. Suddenly he heard pounding steps coming toward his room with the echoes of his father’s pitiful voice, hoarse from crying, pleading in the background: “No Gladys please don’t. Just think about this for a minute--”

“Oh I’ve thought about this every night and morning I’m awake Forsythe for far longer than I should have.” His mother’s voice was nearer than expected and he braced himself as she charged into the room, thrumming with frantic energy.

“Kids, come out here please. We need to talk.”

That statement dropped like an anchor through Jughead’s insides. He knew rock bottom was upon them all.

“Gladys please just wait until morning. Lets sleep on it. At least give me a chance to sober up--”

“If I had to wait for you to sober up we’d never leave.” His mother snapped, leading them into the living room and guiding them toward the couch to sit down. Jellybean was already in tears, scared of their mother’s rattled disposition.

“Where are we going?” She moaned thickly, and Jughead hugged her close against his side.

“It’s OK JB, I’m here.” He soothed, rubbing a hand up and down her arm reassuringly, though he felt numb inside. His lips felt impossibly dry, tongue heavy as his mother paced before them. His father just sat in his arm chair, inebriated and weeping into his hands.

“I never wanted it to have to come to this.” She said finally, stopping before them. She looked impossibly exhausted. Her tired eyes found the terse forms of her children and immediately they began to fill with sadness. “I just can’t do this anymore.” Her voice broke, and she sank down in front of them, crouching like some small bird as she reached her quaking hands out to capture one of theirs. “I can’t live like this anymore, and I can’t bear watching either of you live like it either.” She sniffled, and Jughead felt as though he were having an out of body experience. He felt as if he were floating like some deity or spectre, seeing this unholy scene from the ceiling; this liquor soaked heap of sobs that was formerly known as a father, this frail, broken woman kneeling before two terrified and impossibly trapped children. He knew what was coming next, like an animal standing with a dull stare in the headlights of a train, helpless in the face of the oncoming force about to run him down. His life was running away from him like a petulant child and he was powerless to control it. He had no idea what turn this would take him in.  
  
“I’m leaving your father.” The words sucked the air from Jughead’s lungs, and his vision grew dim, as if watching this benignly through a foreign body.

“Why?!” Jellybean screamed next to him, angry and fearful.

“Because sweetheart, your father is sick. And it’s hurting all of us. He needs to get better, and until he does we need to be somewhere safe so he can focus on taking care of himself. Daddy needs to get stronger and he can’t do that if he has all of us to worry about and take care of. We need to do this for him” She cupped Jellybean’s face, sobbing, and FP wobbled to his feet seething.

“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for me, Gladys. You’re doing this **to** me. You think you can just up and leave? Take my whole family away from me and you think I’ll just stand here and watch?!”

“You’re not WELL!” Gladys spiraled around, rejuvenated with fresh adrenaline. “My God Forsythe, don’t you care what this does to them at all?! Seeing you like this every day?! We can’t afford to live like this, you’ve been fired and you’re not working anymore! You’re just drunk all the time and I can’t do this alone anymore. I’m going with the kids to mom’s house in Toledo. I’ll go back to school so I can get a better job. But we’re running out of money. Our children need a future and they’ll never get one like this. Don’t you even care?!”

“OF COURSE I CARE!!” FP screamed, eyes red and streaming. “Just don’t do this to me. Don’t take them away from me . . . if you take them I’ll --” He hiccuped, falling back into his arm chair haphazardly and shuddering with sobs. “I’ll have no reason left to live.”

“Oh my GOD Forsythe how dare you say these things in front of them!” Gladys gasped, spinning quickly to take each of her children by the wrists. “Grab your coats, now. We’re leaving. We’ll come back for our things in the morning.”

“But dad!--” Jughead managed to choke over the loud sounds of Jellybean’s wails. His mother had a vice-like grip on his wrist, dragging him toward the porch with a force he had never experienced from his mild-mannered mother.

“He was right -- he needs to sober up. And until he does we can’t be here anymore.”

“But mom he might--”

“This is **not** a debate.” His mother hissed, throwing his coat toward him. “Please, do you think this is easy for me to do? We’ll be back in the morning for our things. He’ll be sober and we can talk reasonably about this then. But for now my children are not spending another toxic minute in this hole.”

And somehow he was led into the night with the screams and cries of his sister muffled by the ringing in his ears, guided like a blind man into the back seat where Jellybean collapsed upon him like a deflated balloon. They drove in silence and darkness then, his sister slowly exhausting herself into a fitful sleep. They went through the motions of checking into a motel for the night, and they slept together in one bed -- or at least, Jellybean slept. All the while Jughead lay awake in the dark, staring at the bland ceiling as his mother silently sobbed beside him until the early morning light. He knew he should feel so many things -- fear, anxiety, suffocating sadness -- but he had felt so much that he simply felt emptied. He was a hollow existence that had replaced his living breathing self, so pummelled by the toxicity of his home life that he had nothing left to feel. Press down and B: he had become the statue. He contemplated his future with a grim finality, foreseeing no feasibly hopeful outcome.

\---

_So don't make me sad_  
_I couldn't stand to watch you fall_  
_'cause everybody has a tender heart_  
_Remember this_  
_I didn't mean to break it down to smithereens_

_\---_

In the morning the statue persisted; he was passing through time in a deadened haze. He felt as if he had dramatically aged overnight; he felt so much older than he did yesterday. It was his sister who stuck by his side as they went through the morning routine in the motel bathroom. He even faintly remembered her brushing his hair. She took him by the hand and guided them back to the car as they moved closer and closer to the end of their established life in the Southside as they knew it.

When they got to the house they found FP face down on the floor, and Jughead felt sensation rush back into each fibre of his nerves as the horror took over.

“Oh Forsythe . . .” His terrified mother breathed, grasping for Jellybean with one hand as the other flew to her mouth. Jellybean was screaming out for her dad as Jughead immediately rushed to his father, the fear of the worst seizing his mind.

“DAD!!” He yelled, grasping the collar of FP’s plaid shirt as the fingers of his other hand sought out a pulse at the neck like he’d seen them do so many times on television. Never in his young life had he thought he would ever need to use that. _Please, please don’t be--_

His father suddenly groaned and shifted, groggily starting to move his limbs like a drugged animal. Slowly he pushed himself onto all fours and clasped his throbbing head. He moved to sit on the floor dazedly, still attempting to return to reality and awaken from the shroud his mind was in. He felt Jughead there, whose emotions had finally rushed forward through the crack in the fortress he had sealed himself away in from last night. He sobbed as he engulfed his dad in his arms, his shuddering heaves taking over as everything spilled out. He didn’t know how long he sat there on that floor, and during that time his father’s arms had found their way around him, cradling him close as they shared in this grief.

“I thought you were dead.” He barely managed to get out after some time, still consumed by all he felt from the shock of that moment, from the events of last night . . .

“I ain’t gone yet.” His dad whispered, reaching up and stroking the wet streaks of ebony curls clinging around his son’s damp and blotched face. Jughead could dimly hear his mother finishing a conversation on the phone in the adjacent room, then her speaking in comforting tones to Jellybean. The both of them came back out into the living room and his mother was looking at the two of them there on the floor pitifully.

“I was just talking to mom.” She said hoarsely. “She’s put some money in my bank account to help us out with the travel expenses. I’ve packed most of my things and Jellybean’s. We’re just taking what we need.” She turned from FP to address her son.  “Jug, I have most of your clothes packed up too but I wanted to leave your personal things to you, so please come and--”

“No.” Jughead said quietly, swiping an arm across his wet lashes. When he glanced back up his mother looked positively stricken. “No, mom.”

“What? Sweetheart--”

“I’ve made up my mind and I’m not leaving dad.” He stood up and now by the look on her face he could tell that his mother was panicking. She started shaking her head and came toward him as if through a fog. She pawed at his chest in a desperate bid to smooth some reason into him.

“Jughead no. You can’t make that kind of decision, this isn’t safe, you--”

“I’m not. Leaving. Dad.” He said in a stern tone with finality, pulling back from her.

“You don’t get to make that choice, now go gather your things.”

“I already have. And if anything happens to dad, I’ll never forgive you **or** myself. I’m not going.”

“JUGHEAD--”

“HE’LL DIE! Is that what you want?!” It exploded out of him before he could hold it back, and he was crying again. “If we just abandon him he’s going to die here. It’s not fair for you to ask me to do that, mom. I won’t.” She recoiled from him, his words stinging her like the lash of a whip. His gaze softened, but his stance remained firm. “Look. I know that you have to go and do this. I’m not angry at you for it, but don’t ask me to do this. Jellybean needs to go with you. You’re right, it isn’t safe for her to be here growing up in this. But someone needs to be here with him to take care of him. I understand if you can’t do it anymore, but I can and I will. Don’t try to change my mind -- I won’t. I’m staying with dad.”

“Oh my God.” Gladys whispered, and then bawled a fist and held it to her face, pinched with agony and littered with tears. “You can’t expect me to just leave you here with him--”

“You can’t expect me to abandon my dad. It’s done. Take Jellybean and go. I’m staying and that’s final.”

He was sure that he had broken his mother when she went down, sobbing as she held his knees.

“No, please no . . . my baby . . .” she quivered in a thin voice “not my baby . . .”

“Mom . . .” Jellybean whined fearfully, tugging at her shirt from behind. Jughead took his mother by the shoulders and stared her down levelly.

“I’m not a baby anymore, mom. I know that you have to do this for all of us. But someone has to look after dad. I’ll never be happy in Toledo knowing that we did this to him. Please let me do this.” The silence stretched out dreadfully before them until at long last a gentle, tentative nod was his answer.

“OK.” She whimpered, meeting his eyes with trembling lips. She smoothed his dark hair back from his forehead before holding his head in her hands, entirely heartbroken. “OK sweetheart. I trust you. I’m just going to miss you so much.” And she collapsed into his arms on the precipice of the complete destruction of their family unit. When they had regained enough composure to separate and move about Jughead got to work helping his mother pack Jellybean’s things.

\---

_I heard you crying_  
_I learned the story_  
 _I saw the shadows behind the past_  
 _They fall behind you_  
 _And creep up slowly_  
 _We're only human_  
 _Behind the mask_

_\---_

It was in his little sister's bedroom that she decided to confront him about his decision, and of everything he had to endure in those twenty four hours, this was the worst moment of all.

“You’ve gotta come with us.” She said in the tiniest voice to his back, and for a moment he could not even bear to turn around and see that devastated little face.

“Someone has to watch dad, JB--”

“But I need you.” She sniffled. “I’ll miss you too much. I don’t know how to be without you.”

“You’ll have to be strong.” He struggled to speak.

“I don’t want to!” She shouted tearfully. “I want **you**!” She stomped her foot angrily. “You’re being stupid!”

“Jellybean--”

“I don’t wanna move to a new place without you!” She bawled. “I had to lose Hot Dog and now I gotta leave my friends and Betty and I can’t lose you, too!”

“Please listen to me--”

“NO!” She screamed. “You _know_ you’re supposed to be with me! Polly wouldn’t leave Betty like this. Why are you doing this Juggie?!”

He spun around to face her and it was worse than he could have imagined. Just the splintered sight of her was enough to run him through to his very core. It killed any words that had been sitting on his tongue. It seized his very being with guilt and searing shame. He would never, ever forget how she had looked at him that day.

“If Betty were here she would tell you the right things and you would come with me. C’mon, let’s go talk to her, she’ll know what to do--”  
  
“JB stop. This is hard enough as it is we can’t just--”

“I’m **not** leaving town without you and I’m **not** leaving without seeing Betty.” She broke down again, her little frame jolting with sobs. “I WANNA SEE BETTY!!!” She screamed, slamming the door in his face as she ran from the room. He chased after her, stumbling out into the hall as the front door ricocheted loudly in it’s frame. He ran out onto the lawn just in time to see her pedalling away on her bike. His mother followed him out and clasped him by the shoulder.

“It’ll be good for her to see Betty before we go.” She said quietly, utterly defeated. “Come inside, you can help me finish packing.”

\---  
  
_So don't take me down_  
_I couldn't stand to watch you fall_  
_'cause everybody has a broken heart_  
_Remember this_  
_I couldn't stand to break it down to smithereens_

_\---_

**Smithereens** Lyrics by Annie Lennox

 ---

This was a very difficult chapter to write, to say the least. We all know that what happened in Jughead's past was devastating enough to shatter his family as well as his ability to love and trust wholly. I have had the misfortune of seeing what thing kind of upbringing can do to people firsthand. For those of you who might be going though something similar, please know that my inbox is always open to you. <3 Let me know your thoughts, updating again soon!


	6. The Counterfeit King

_This is the book I never read_  
_These are the words I never said_  
_This is the path I'll never tread_  
_These are the dreams I'll dream instead_  
_This is the joy that's seldom spread_  
_These are the tears_  
_The tears we shed_  
_This is the fear_  
_This is the dread_  
_These are the contents of my head_  
_And these are the years that we have spent_  
_And this is what they represent_  
_And this is how I feel_  
_Do you know how I feel?_  
_I don't think you know how I feel . . ._  
You don’t know how I feel.

_\---_

Betty was home alone and thankfully so when the knock came at her door. She wasn’t entirely prepared for what she opened the door to.

Standing on her porch was Jellybean, eyes puffy and red, face wet and blotched, her breath coming out in the hiccups of sobs. Horrified by the visage of the typically cheerful child Betty dropped to her knees immediately to hold out her arms. Jellybean promptly ran into them.

“Oh my goodness JB what’s wrong?!” Betty asked in concern, stroking the ebony hair of the shaken girl.

“Betty . . .” she sobbed “I’m going to miss you so much.” She barely got it out before her little frame reduced to shuddering tears. Betty held her tightly, a pang of panic suddenly gripping her insides.

“What do you mean? Why will you have to miss me?” Betty rocked back on her heels and held the girl at arms length so that she could study her response. Jellybean swept her sleeve down over her face a few times before recollecting herself enough to respond.

“Betty . . . my mom is gonna leave my dad.” She sniffled. “We’re going to go live with grandma in Toledo because dad is sick.”

“What?!” Betty gasped. “Oh no, Jellybean . . . I’m so, so sorry.” She embraced the child again, her insides immediately whipping into a firestorm of questions and anxieties. “I wish this didn’t have to happen. I’m going to miss you so much.” Betty felt herself filling up, and the girl in her arms had returned to crying again. “What about Jughead, is he going with you?” Betty felt something inside of her almost shriveling, like the walls inside of her were closing in and threatening to crush something precious.

“NO” The girl barked out the response as she began to cry harder, working herself back up into the frenzy she’d been in when she first arrived. “I tried to make him come but he won’t listen. He’s scared about dad and don’t want to leave him by himself, so he’s staying and mom and I are going and I don’t want it.” She was now madly swatting away at tears that rolled heavily down her cheeks as she slurred her way through sentences, progressively losing coherence. “An’ I yelled at him and he still won’t come and now he isn’t gonna like me no more because I got mad at him.” She sobbed, collapsing into Betty’s arms again.

Her heart was absolutely breaking for the child, but at the same time there was a miniscule release in all of this upon her hearing that Jughead would not be abruptly uprooted and torn from her life. It was one thing to lose the companionship and company of Jellybean, but to lose both her and Jughead . . . Betty had almost felt as though a pair of invisible hands had gripped at her lungs, squeezing out the air to make her breaths short and laboured. Now at least with the knowledge that she wouldn’t lose both she felt herself retaining the ability to take in steady breaths. This child needed her now, needed some form of assurance and comfort that she might not get elsewhere. This consideration came second nature to Betty, who would help JB to feel better at any and all costs.

“Jellybean, Jellybean . . .” she soothed, sitting back again so that she could smooth the fly-away hairs so akin to Jughead’s from the small girl’s face. “I know you must feel really bad about yelling at Jughead, but he’s your big brother. Believe me, I know big sisters and brothers. There is nothing you could possibly do that could make Jughead stop loving you. He’s crazy about you.”

Jellybean started to come back down again, sniffling hard and nodding. “I know . . . I just feel so bad for yellin’ at him. I gotta go soon and I didn’t wanna go without seeing you. But now I thinks about leaving Jughead and I feels so bad especially after yellin’ at him and runnin’ away.”

“Well how about this?” Betty smiled, taking the girl's hands in her own. “I have my craft kit upstairs and you know I’m pretty handy at making things. What if you made something nice for him before you go? Something to say you’re sorry for getting mad that he can keep? That way he has something to remember you by whenever he misses you.”

For the first time since Jellybean arrived at Betty’s house, her face actually lit up. She lunged forward to give Betty a tight squeeze.

“You always know what to do Betty.”

\---

“I just don’t know what to make.” The little girl frowned, overwhelmed as she continued sifting through felts, buttons, badges and yarns in Betty’s craft kit.

“You know he would love anything that you made for him.” Betty encouraged, smiling as she watched the girl carefully inspect various fabrics.

“I know” Jellybean said mournfully. “I just don’t know what’d be good enough for him. I wish I didn’t have to go today so I could work real hard on it.”

“It’s OK, JB. You know Jughead will understand. He’ll be so proud of you no matter what you make, just because you thought about him. So let’s start with some ideas. What is the one thing you think is most special about your brother?”

“Wow . . .” Jellybean breathed, sitting back to stare at the ceiling ponderously. “Wow, there’s a lot.” She stated simply, pausing at length to wend the question over in her mind. After a time, her voice broke the silence tentatively. “Well, I mean - there really is lots. But for me, the most special . . . well when I’m scared, he always looks after me. Juggie has always taken care of me.” Jellybean offered. “I guess he takes care of all of us. Mom, dad -- he’s like the king of our family.” She giggled. “It’s like he’s the grown up.”

That statement actually made Betty’s insides twist, giving her a glimpse into the reality of what her best friend’s life was truly like at home -- the life he would never dare hint at or express himself. She mustered an honest smile at the sentiment, her heart both aching and full.

“A king, huh?” An indulgent smile suddenly swept across her face, and she thumbed the corner of the pale blue felt that Jellybean held in her small hands.

“Whatcha thinkin’ Betty?” Jellybean raised her brows, recognizing that look that always overtook the blonde when the gears of her mind starting turning with an idea.

“I think you’re absolutely right, Jellybean. I also think that your brother deserves to be treated like royalty for everything that he does for your family.” She was now beaming, pulling out her mini kit of various threads and needles. “I think I know just the thing that we could make for him before you have to go.”

\---

Jughead was helping his mother pack in the last of the baggage she intended to take to Toledo in the car when Jellybean rolled into the driveway on her bicycle. He turned to watch as she snatched a parcel from her bike basket and run into the house with it. He felt such a myriad of emotions knotting up inside of him just at the sight of her. He didn’t know how to approach this. She had been gone for so long and he was crushed by the fact that they now had so little time to reconcile. He wasn’t even sure if she would want to, and that’s what hurt worst of all. Would she want to stay angry at him and carry that resentment for him all the way to Toledo? He didn’t know if he could bear it. His mother’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder.

“You know you can still come with us. It would mean so much to both of us.” She invited, and Jughead merely sighed.

“I know, mom. But I just can’t leave dad here alone.”

She nodded with understanding, pressing her lips together tightly in a vain attempt to withhold emotion.

“You should go talk with her in person while you can.” She said thinly, turning back to the last item to place in the car aside from herself and Jellybean.

\---

He stood in that doorway in silence for a stretching moment, watching her back as she milled about to collect the last of her treasured trinkets. He was fearful of disturbing this peace. What if she pushed him away the moment that she knew he was there?

“Hi Juggie” she said quietly with her back still to him, revealing that she had known he was there the entire time. He felt his face burn self-consciously as he stepped into the room, rubbing at the back of his neck anxiously. There was a moment of stillness between them, and then: “I’m really sorry I yelled at you earlier.” Her voice was already tight with tears, and now that he knew she was no longer angry he went to her immediately.

“JB it’s OK. You don’t need to be sorry, it’s OK to be upset.” When his hands found her shoulders she spun around to meet him, and they met in a familiar hug. She buried her face into the open collar of his plaid shirt.

“I know. But I still feels so bad. I’m not mad at you, I just don’t wanna have to miss you.”

“I don’t want to have to miss you either.” He managed passed the sizeable lump that was constricting his throat.

“I know I’m going to so much and I’m scared.”

“I’m scared too, but we’ve gotta try to be brave JB.” He soothed. “And you know that you can call me anytime you want to and I’ll be here to talk to. I’m really going to miss you so you better call me a lot, OK?”

“I will” she said in a high, small voice. She was clasping him as though he were a lone buoy keeping her afloat in a wide expanse of sea. Their mother appeared in the doorway, reluctantly interrupting their moment.

“I’m sorry guys, but it’s time to go. We’re losing daylight and we have a long drive ahead of us.”  
\---

_Darling are you feeling_  
_The same thing that I'm seeing?_  
_The troubles of the day_  
_Took my breath away_ _  
_ Took my breath away . . .

\---

FP and Jughead stood beside the car wistfully, waiting in anguish for that moment of finality when they would be left behind by half of their family like relics. Gladys had already struggled through a strained goodbye with FP, resisting that old familiar urge to throw her inhibitions to the wind and just humor him a little longer. Stay by him a little longer. But she couldn’t. They couldn’t feasibly live like this any longer: not financially, not physically, not mentally.

When she got to Jughead she was consumed by the magnitude of this decision, trying to swallow down the panic and terror. All of the horrible ways this arrangement could go wrong flashed like a frenzied picture show in her mind until she was breaking down again, trembling and so weak from the tears that her young son had to guide her to her seat in the car. She took his hand through the window, begging him to come, pleading with him to do what was safest for him, wringing her hands in futility when he refused to concede.

FP had been so devastated by having to say goodbye to his daughter that he had curled in on himself on the lawn, wracked by sadness. He crawled back into the house a mental human wreck, unable to bear the sight of his own failures coming into fruition, driving away those he had sworn to protect. He refused to watch the most important women of his life drive away and abandon him.

Jellybean and Jughead were now facing each other, the last and worst goodbye.  
Neither could comprehend a way to manage this situation now that it was bearing down upon them.

Jughead filed away that memory of her standing there in her white dress and a bright fuchsia headband in her midnight hair, all of those hues blending together with her cream colored complexion as his vision blurred and swam. He was on his knees while she was holding him as she always did, and all he could think about was the loss of that warmth in his arms, in his immediate life. She was one of the sole sources of love that he had in the world. How long would it be until he saw her again? Would they ever hug like this again, be close like this again? How much would she have grown the next time they met face to face? How much would he have missed out on or failed to protect her from?

There are some hurts that penetrate so deep that they become a white hot sear before utter numbness: an emotional branding iron that raises a blistering on the soul. It leaves behind a constant reminder -- a tattooing of that moment, that memory -- an indelible mark. He felt that burning in his chest as she began to let her arms slip away and he didn’t know how he would find the strength to get up from where he knelt. The damage was done. Suddenly, there was a smudge of yellow roughly the size of a shoebox being held out toward him.

“I made this for you. Betty helped.” She sniffled, and his hands found the edges of the wrapped parcel that she extended to him. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly clearing, and she had a bittersweet smile on her young face; a touch too melancholy for her age. She began stroking away tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. “When you miss me -- I mean _really_ miss me -- you can put it on and think of me. Don’t open it until I go, OK?”

\---  
  
Standing on his front lawn, the sky a fiery watercolor of crisp citrus peach and blood orange, Jughead held an arm over his brow to witness the car pulling out of the drive. He watched that back window that Jellybean was now propped up in, waving, staring back at him stubbornly as the future dragged her forward. He stayed until he could no longer see the car in the distance, stood there long after it had disappeared from his sight. The second she could no longer be seen he felt a pang; that first stab of loneliness would reverberate, but for how long his young mind could not comprehend or prepare for.

He missed her already.

Taking a seat there on the lawn he opened the parcel promptly, pulling the dainty cream tissue paper aside to reveal the contents. He lifted the delicately crafted crown from its confines, stroking the crimson button and stark white patch on the side, letting a fingertip trace over each point of the blue-grey crown. It was the card underneath that got him. Her scrawling handwriting said in the usual bold, looping letters:

  
_You deserve to be treated like royalty._

_Wear this when you miss me -- I miss you already!_

_Xoxoxoxo,_

_JB_

With a heaviness in his chest unlike any he had known before he slowly placed the crown atop his head. It was like a dam within him became compromised and gave way; he didn’t know how much time bled by as he sat there on the ground and cried his heart out.

\---

He missed an entire week of school as he attempted to prevent his father from killing himself with drink, and the rest of that time he spent mourning the separation from his mother and sister. He dared not leave the house for any longer than he needed because he was terrified of finding the liquor sodden corpse that would surely greet him when he returned. Knocks came at his door sporadically and he recognized them easily; the uneven, steady thudding of the heel of Archie’s hand, other times the curt and stuttering tap of Betty’s knuckles. His father was too drunk and he was too resigned to face them. He just didn’t have what it took to see them right now, robbed of words and the capacity to socialize in any meaningful way. He felt guilty for making them worry but he was too broken to see them; he wanted to be left alone in his misery.

He came to learn that Betty was a very difficult individual to evade when she was determined. How many times that week did he hear her tapping out there? How long would she actually stand there afterward, waiting, wondering? He wished she would just give up, but she called every evening. She came every day. And every time she did she waited at his doorstep a little longer.

He had become an expert at evasion up until himself and his father began running out of food near the end of the week. Supplies had been low as it was, but FP had not concerned himself much with any other activity besides drinking himself into oblivion and any sustenance besides his liquid diet did not interest him. Jughead did not have the luxury of forgetting the hell that was the past week or his hunger, and he could only spare out a few boxes of Kraft dinner for so long. It was due to being backed into a corner by this dire moment of desperation that he took the last scrap of money that he had left to his name and set out on a mission to the grocery store.

He had gone mercifully unnoticed on the expedition as his slunk silently around the store gathering what scant supplies he needed to get by, but that luck ran out on his way home. He felt a rigid grip of dread permeate his nerves when he heard the giggling of imbeciles and a jeering voice addressed him from behind: “Oh whoa look who we got here from the other side of town? Hey Jughead!”

“Juggieeee!” A familiar voice crowed. Three shadows stretched ahead of Jughead and he stopped with a huff as they began to circle him. “Long time no see! What you give up on school now?” Chuck taunted, and another voice piped up: “Wish my parents let me blow off school.” Jughead caught the grinning visage of Reggie Mantle as he moved in close enough to root in one of the grocery bags and steal a banana. Jason Blossom looked mildly apologetic in the background before uttering a quiet greeting, a frequent bystander to the antics of his more boisterous friends.

“What have you got on your head there?” Chuck Clayton snorted, rounding Jughead with a sly smile. “You the king of the trailer park now?”

Reggie guffawed obnoxiously as Jason watched the event unfold uneasily.

“C’mon guys . . .” The redhead muttered cautiously as Jughead felt a tightening in his chest, a hotness in his cheeks. Reggie was munching on the banana distractingly when suddenly Chuck’s hand lashed out, snatching the felt crown from Jughead’s raven hair.

“Whadda ya guys think? Who wore it better?” Chuck perched it on his head and posed pompously as Reggie nearly choked on his mouthful of fruit, spitting out banana chunks. But Jason, ever observant, was watching Jughead’s face carefully as it contorted in rage.

“Chuck-” He attempted to vocalize a warning but it came a beat too late as Jughead lunged at the posturing instigator. Chuck was shocked when Jughead lashed out to strike him, catching the fist in his hand and shoving the furious boy backward.

“Whoa, excuse me?” Chuck snarled. “Why don’t you calm the frig down, Jones? We’re just havin’ fun.”

“Can we go?” Jason said pointedly, but his request went unanswered as his two friends crowded in around Jughead.

“Give it back.” Jughead said through grit teeth. “ **Now** , Chuck.”  
  
“Or what?” Chuck cackled. “You gonna fight me Jug?”

When Jughead unexpectedly threw himself toward his taunter Chuck was taken off guard. Reggie grasped Jughead about the arms to prevent him from striking and Jason released a sharp breath of disapproval.

“What is your freaking problem? You want your stupid hat so bad here.” Chuck threw it on the ground and Reggie released Jughead, who promptly crouched down to grab it. Chuck was quicker, grinding his foot into the delicate material and swiping the crown into the road. Reggie was no longer grinning and Jason reprimanded sharply with “enough!”

Jughead could only hear the pounding in his ears, seeing red as he attacked the smirking face of the boy before him.

“Whoa guys, calm down!” Reggie sputtered with hands reaching out as the Blossom boy’s voice raised to de-escalate the situation.  
  
“HEY!” Jason went unheeded as the two tussled; it only took seconds for retaliation from Chuck. Jughead heard the crunch, felt the knuckles connect with his eye, driving into his socket harshly as white dots exploded behind his lids. An excruciating fire of pain kindled in his skull as Reggie yelled Chuck’s name and Jason leapt forward to intervene with a shout.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Another voice seemed to come out of nowhere, high and manic as it pierced the air like lightning. Jughead recognized it instantly and it filled him to the brim with ignominy. He couldn’t see her due to the spots in his vision but he knew she was suddenly there upon them, tearing at Chuck with a savagery the boys had never before witnessed a girl express.

“What the--

“Get off of him -- get the hell away from him, Chuck!” Betty snarled, shoving the larger boy with everything she had. He was taken in unawares and stumbled backward, missing the edge of the sidewalk curb and falling backward. Reggie grasped for him in a timely fashion as a car zoomed passed, narrowly missing the pair. Reggie and Chuck stared at Betty’s flushed face, taken aback by her vitriol and the uncharacteristic mask of fury she wore. Jason stepped forward quickly in an effort to diffuse the tense moment, placing a hand on Betty’s shoulder as a gesture of sincerity.

“I’m really sorry about this Betty, Jughead -- this got really out of hand. We were out of line and it was stupid.” He flashed a hard look toward his companions before continuing. “We should go now.” He said sharply, but Chuck was shaking his head is disbelief.

“You’re apologizing to her? She could have killed me!” Chuck sputtered, and Betty’s lip curled with disgust.

“Honestly guys? Three against one? What are you trying to prove?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be a fight but apparently trailer Jug is feeling extra butthurt today.”

“Enough Chuck! Enough.” Jason hissed. “Sorry Jug -- Betty. Really, I am. We didn’t mean any trouble.”  
  
“Well you’ve got it with a friend like that, if that’s what you want to call him.” Betty glared, and the pair accompanying Chuck looked visibly ashamed. Nobody would readily admit it out loud, but Betty Cooper was a well liked girl who was held in high esteem by her peers. She wasn’t an individual that anyone wanted to lose the respect of. “I expected this kind of low life garbage from Chuck but not from either of you. Is this what you guys do for fun now? Pathetic.”

The boys sullenly shuffled off without another word, and Chuck tossed back a final disparaging look before unofficially accepting his defeat. When Betty turned back to Jughead, desperately anxious to break the dreadful mystery and silence of the past week, she found that he had already put some swift distance between them.

“Juggie!” She cried out, astounded by his behaviour, and she began a heated pursuit after him. When he never turned to acknowledge her and instead stared straight ahead, ploughing on with determination, she lashed out a hand to seize his arm.

“HEY!” She snapped, and he merely paused, his face vacant and expressionless as he stared at the ground. Angry tears stung her eyes as she then grasped his other arm with her free hand, giving him a gentle shake. “Jug. Look at me!” He glanced up for a moment, saw that searing raw hurt in her eyes, and found that he couldn’t hold her eyes. He closed his own, wincing as the right eye flared with white hot pain from his injury.

A tense silence stretched out before them, and Jughead suddenly felt Betty’s fingertips delicately mapping around the territory of his right eye. He felt the genuine care and gentleness of her flooding through his skin from her fingertips, threatening to devastate his self-control. He had missed her presence and light with every aching ounce of his wounded soul and he couldn’t afford to let her know that now. He had to keep her safe, and he could only guarantee that through distance.

“I don’t even know where to start.” She said quietly, channelling that maturity that came naturally to her yet seemed so strange for a girl her age. “I have been so worried about you that it’s made me sick! I mean what is going on with you? Did you actually think I wouldn’t care or something?”

“No, Betty. I never meant for any of this to happen.” He said softly, still unable to open his eyes for fear of completely breaking down. He had gone a full week without any form of affection and even this small gesture was overwhelming him. He was terrified of losing his composure completely in front of her in public.

“Jughead, what did you think was going to happen?” Betty demanded. “You’re my best friend. I care about you. After Jellybean told me what was happening -- and then you stopped coming to school -- you wouldn’t answer your door or my phone calls --” her voice rose in pitch, becoming tight and thin as she succumbed to tears right there and then. “I’ve been losing my mind wondering what’s happening to you. Don’t you know how much it means to me to know that you’re OK?” Jughead was squeezing his eyes shut tight as hard as he could, fighting back against the tears that would surely force their way down his face if he let them. Betty was already fully in tears, never one to hide what she was feeling. It broke his heart to know how he had made her worry, but he couldn’t let her know how bad it really was. He couldn’t make the shit hole that his life had become her problem. He knew the minute he did, he would drag this beautiful person down with him.

“I know.” He sniffled, jaw trembling. “I’m sorry Betty but enough people that I care about have been hurt by this. I’m not going to let it hurt you, too.”  
  
“But that’s not fair!” She protested, hands on either side of his face. “Don’t I get a say? You don’t have to do this alone and shut me out like this. I want to help!”  
  
Jughead felt himself losing his handle on the situation, succumbing to how much her touch and her sincerity meant to him. He felt the force of his emotions buckling in on his will like a defective floodgate about to give way. Betty was too important -- too good to taint with the mess that his life had become. She deserved better, and yet he selfishly wanted to cling to her warmth and support in helpless desperation like he had that night in the treehouse. He couldn’t let that happen.

He pulled away from her, frantically gathering his groceries as he felt the tears rolling down his face. He resented his own weakness, his inability to maintain a colder exterior to keep her at bay, but it was Betty. She was so damn important to him, and seeing her upset shook him to his core. He felt too much for her to act nonchalant.  
  
“Please, let me go. My father is sick and I need to be with him.” He said in a thick voice, beginning to flee the scene. She persisted and reached for a handful of his bags, unwilling to relent.

“Here Juggie, please let me take some bags. I’ll walk you home--”  
  
“No!” He tried to shout it, but the fact that he was crying made his voice slurred and choked. “Betty, look -- do yourself a favour. Stop coming to my house. Just forget about me and stay on your own side of town. OK?”

“Excuse me?!” Betty trilled in shrill disbelief, still keeping up with him stubbornly as he marched down the road in a futile effort to escape her. “Um, no. You have gotta be joking me right now. So you just get to decide that we’re not even friends anymore? No, I am not hearing this. _Jughead_ , slow down a minute--”  
  
He spun around, mustering all of the spite and rage from the past week to channel into his performance. If he was going to protect Betty from the toxic fallout of his current situation he had to sell this. He couldn’t live with himself if he knew he had allowed her to get bogged down in his leprous life. She was so good and pure -- a model student, a perfect daughter, a beautiful soul. He would not be responsible for sullying that, infecting her through his own contaminated existence.

“Stop following me.” He spat, and she stopped abruptly, as if an invisible slap had assaulted her from nowhere. The hurt on her face was excruciating for him to see, especially knowing he had caused it. He knew it would hurt a lot less than what it would do to her to become a part of this mess he was dealing with. It wasn’t a healthy environment for any person, especially someone as genuine and kind as Betty. He couldn’t let that happen. “Leave me alone, Betty. I mean it.”

He spun around and plowed forward immediately, rushing away from the scene before he completely broke down. He heard her sob behind him, and he made the mistake of glancing back as she sat down right where she was on the sidewalk, drawing her knees up to her face and bawling into them. He carried that image of her all the way home, crying as he went, and he couldn’t help but feel that he had truly lost everything that brought him comfort and joy in his life.

\---

_Now you're no longer talking_  
_And I'm no longer listening_  
_There's nothing left to say_ _  
_ Said it anyway . . .

_I'm dying_  
_Because this is the saddest song I've got_ _  
_ The saddest song I've got.

\---

**Why** and **The Saddest Song** Lyrics by Annie Lennox

\---

My heart. I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself! The more I think about what Jughead’s childhood must have been like, the more I begin to understand where the wounded and insecure Jughead that we see on the show must have originated. It is difficult to imagine that kind of hardship for someone so young. Also if any of you out there are experiencing any hardship of your own, know that my inbox is always open. <3 As always, let me know your thoughts. Update coming very soon!


	7. Priority #1

__

_Darling are you healing_   
_From all the scars appearing_   
_Don't it hurt a lot_   
_Don't know how to stop_   
_Don't know how it stops_   
_Now there's no sense in seeing_   
_The colours of the morning_   
_Hold the clouds at bay_   
_Chase them all away_   
_And I'm frozen still_   
_Unspoken still_ _  
_ Heartbroken

\---

 

As day and night bled together it was beyond Jughead to comprehend when the sun rose or the moon sank. A numbness began to solidify in the center of his chest. Archie’s clumsy knocks and increasingly desperate phone messages continued, but Jughead was devastated by the absence of Betty’s precise and persistent knocking after school. She stopped calling. He hadn’t heard from her in the three days since their falling out. And while he was relieved that he had spared her of the tumult he was going through, that selfish part of him wished she hadn’t listened to him and hadn’t given up on him despite his instructions otherwise.

 

He stared at the desecrated hat now sitting atop the television, feeling both defeated and ashamed. It seemed to embody everything his life was right now perfectly. He missed Betty with an intensity that was only compounded and magnified by the absence of his mother and sister. He was neglecting Archie entirely and he had chased Betty away. He had lost nearly every resource for love and warmth that he had available to him, and now he had cut off the remainder. He knew he would have to take that approach with Betty considering how stubborn and determined she could be. As excruciating as it was, he knew it was in Betty’s best interest. He had always sought out the best for her and this was the right thing to do for her well being in the long run. She was angry and upset now, but later she could heal; continue her sterling life with her wonderful family, perhaps get closer to Archie as she had always wanted, carrying no baggage; no guilt or responsibility for the tragic life of Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third.  


He tended to his living space and his father in an effort to keep busy, to keep from going crazy, to ensure his dad didn’t leave this trailer in a body bag in the near future. He force fed his inebriated father water or food wherever he was sprawled on the couch or in his arm chair in a daily routine of sordid monotony. It wasn’t until the liquor finally ran out that Jughead’s father knew a sober day of stinging red eyes and throbbing skull, withdrawn into himself as if holding in his insides, curled into a pathetic ball on the couch. It had been ten days since Jughead had foregone school and it was only now occurring to FP that this was the case. He was both contrite and furious that his alcoholic stupor had impacted his son’s attendance, and they fought viciously that afternoon over the matter of Jughead returning to school. They remained at an impasse, and Jughead couldn’t physically stop his father when he decided to storm out of the trailer like a petulant child, most likely on the way to thin their ever thinning resources further at the liquor store.

 

Jughead had sat there on the sofa in gloomy silence, surveying his domestic prison with insensate coldness, as if staring through a stranger’s eyes. He couldn’t believe what he had become, how his life had been abruptly hijacked and torn into smithereens in a matter of weeks, and was now reduced to this residual heap of ash. What prospects did he have left? What power did he have over his father to halt this rapid free fall into self destruction? He was weighted down and pinned by the plethora of responsibilities he had inherited that nobody his age should ever have to deal with. At age thirteen there were so many new things to grow accustomed to and this was all just too much to be expected of him. String by string his ties to the things he loved about Riverdale were slowly being snipped. He should have just gone to Toledo . . .

 

A crisp rapping at the front door broke him from his reverie. His heart climbed into his throat and his mouth was immediately dry as he recognized the knock.

 

Betty.

 

She’d come back.

 

He knew he shouldn’t invite this turn of events in any way, but he was so insatiably lonely. He didn’t have the power to resist parting the curtain ever so slightly, just so he could see that she was there and find comfort in the very sight of her. She was twisting her pretty features in disapproval, staring at the barrier between them spitefully. She was holding a parcel under her left arm and tugged down at the front of her powder blue cardigan with the pristine white collar using her right hand. She then straightened the hem of her bright white skirt and raised that free hand to her tight ponytail, running her fingers anxiously through her vibrant blonde hair. Her excessive fidgeting was a textbook giveaway to Jughead that Betty Cooper was nervous. She seemed to steel herself before huffing out a sharp breath, knocking at the door again with determination. She shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, testing out her white low-top Chuck Taylor’s before abruptly kicking the door with a gust of exasperation.

 

“This is so stupid, Jug!” She yelled for everyone to hear. “If it wasn’t trespassing I’d just come in there! In fact--” his heart palpitated as she tested the door angrily, but found relief in the fact that he’d remembered to lock the door. “Ugh!” She snarled. “Fine. You can keep this up, but I can, too. If you think I’m just going to give up on you because you tell me to then you don’t really know Betty Cooper as well as you think you do, mister.” She threatened. “I’ll be back tomorrow, the next day, and every day after it until you get back to school because you can’t afford to miss any more math! I can only help so much, you know. You might as well just open the door, it’ll be a lot less annoying for the both of us. I have my books here.”  

 

He felt like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She was one of the strangest people he knew in the best way possible. She actually did have on her bookbag, now that he paid it mind. How ironic that she was still headlining the primary concern for his education!

 

“Suit yourself!” She snapped loudly in annoyance at the closed door, placing the package under her arm down on the porch. “But don’t think this is over. Right now I’m just hungry. But when I come back here tomorrow--” She leaned in toward the door in an exaggerated motion “and I **will** be back tomorrow -- I’ll have a sandwich to eat for after school. I will sit on this porch until you come out of there. I’ll bring a sleeping bag if I have to!” She yelled, marching down the steps as if she were truly about to leave, but then she spiralled around on the front lawn viciously. “YOU HEAR ME? I WILL SLEEP HERE TOMORROW NIGHT IF I HAVE TO! You can’t ignore me forever Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third! And I hope everyone in the trailer park heard that!”

 

The furious blonde stormed off, and even though Jughead had just received the scolding of his lifetime, he was absolutely beaming. For the first time in weeks he felt like he was floating. Betty still cared about him. Of course Betty still cared about him. He felt like an idiot to have ever doubted that, and the knowledge that she fiercely refused to give up on their friendship meant the world to him right now. As hard as he might have tried to keep Betty at bay, he should have known that he was no match for her.

 

The ridiculous moment had breathed new life into him, and he was wearing a gigantic stupid grin as he made his way to the front door. He cautiously checked to make sure she was truly gone before he opened the door, grasping the package and racing back inside with it. He ran to his bedroom with the parcel, so elated and full of adrenaline from the excitement of knowing he hadn’t lost Betty’s friendship. His hands were actually trembling as he pulled open the beautifully tied orange ribbon and tore the crisp teal wrapping paper. He lifted the lid from the box and pulled away the vibrant rainbow tissue paper to find the contents inside. Gently, he reached into the depths and pulled out what looked to be a beanie. A charcoal gray, handmade beanie in the shape of a crown. His eyes swam as he ran his fingers over the red button and white patch adorning the side, just like the one that Jellybean had made for him.

 

All at once he was so overwhelmed with this gesture of kindness. He couldn’t shake the mental image of Betty sitting with her sewing kit open and items strewn along her bed as he had so often seen her in times before, working diligently on this project over the weekend along with her homework. She had made this with her time, her hands, her affection for him. For the first time since his mother and sister had left, Jughead actually felt his age; he felt loved. He reached for the note that had been tucked away underneath the hat and read it’s contents:

 

_Juggie,_

  
_You really hurt my feelings the other day but I’m not mad -- I know what you are going through is hard. I was really upset that they ruined your hat from Jellybean so I knit you a new one. After all, “You deserve to be treated like royalty.”_   
  
_Archie and I miss you like crazy. Don’t forget, we’re your family too!_   
_Stop being stupid, right now._ _  
_ I mean it!

 

_XOXO,_

 

_Betty_

 

\---

_Not long ago_

_I gave up hope_

_But you came along_   
_You gave me something I could hold on to_ _  
_ And I want you

\---

Jughead Jones was now standing at the end of Betty Cooper’s driveway, two years after she had given him his now infamous beanie. He briefly took it off, inspecting it carefully, running a finger along the pointed edges as he was so accustomed to doing when it wasn’t on. He was working up the courage to do what he never thought he would have the strength to do, but Betty Cooper just seemed to have that effect on him.

 

Soon he would climb that ladder and make himself known, and that terrified him -- but Betty always found a way to make him feel brave. He liked the person he was when he was around her. Although his hands were trembling and his heart was pounding, his resolve was steel. He was going to make this leap after all these years of knowing her, put everything out on the table and risk it all. He didn’t want to lose her, dreaded that idea with every cell and synapse in his being, but to keep going the way they were would be lying to her and himself. The timing had never felt so fitting -- he never knew if there would ever be an appropriate time to tell her. But now, after everything that had happened, after everything they’d been through -- it just felt _right_ . He had waited nearly his whole life for this opportunity and he wasn’t about to squander it.   
  
He had to do this. He owed this precious person the truth, whether it would sting him in the end or not. She deserved honesty, and he just didn’t have what it took to hide it all anymore. They had grown closer again in the past few weeks, closer than they had felt in a very long time. Even if it scared the hell out of him, he had to tell the truth. At the end of the day, he would always do right by Betty, no matter the cost to himself.   
  
She had made the beanie he was now clutching in the absolute darkest moment his young life had ever known. Stranded with his alcohol riddled father, separated from his mother and beloved sister, thirteen year old Jughead was completely unprepared for the burden of his new life. He hadn’t been sure if he was strong enough to survive it, to hang on white-knuckled and ride out that storm until he could find solid ground to stand on again. He had been all but consumed by darkness and was ready to abandon what little light he had left in his life. He had been ready to just give up.

 

And then Betty Cooper made him a hat and tried to kick down his door.

 

Jughead silently guffawed to himself at that thought and embarrassedly thumbed a tear away just below his eye. He was bursting with emotion as he remembered that moment and what that pure gesture of care and loyalty had done for him. Betty might very well have saved his life that day with that beanie and that refusal to give up on him. It was a symbol of him crawling back up to his feet after the ultimate T.K.O that life had dealt him. People still wondered and gossiped about where he got it and why he wore it, but in true Jughead fashion, he kept what was dear to him close and silent in his heart. The only people who needed to know were him and Betty.

 

Literally the next day after Betty had given him that hat, his survival instinct seemed to just kick in. It was as if he had been waiting for some sign that he mattered in the universe somehow to come and slap him awake and it had arrived in the form of Betty Cooper. He had been starving -- famished for love and support, but he had kept it barred outside his home -- his heart -- with stubborn anguish. But Betty Cooper had infiltrated his fortress of solitude and finally his appetite for endearment had been satiated. He felt renewed and capable of facing the next hurdle. He got up extra early in the morning, fixed breakfast for himself and his dad, brushed his teeth, got a shower, got dressed, and put on his beanie -- his new shield against the virulent forces of the world. He tied his sneakers, hoisted on his backpack, and made the walk across town just so he could ride the bus with his best friends.

 

And he did all of those things for Betty.

 

When he finally closed in on the bus stop Archie and Betty were back on to him at the sidewalk, consumed in fretful conversation as he approached. Jughead just caught the tail end of what Archie was saying: “ . . . but he hasn’t returned any of my calls and dad says that if this keeps up then-”

 

“Hey guys.” Jughead said mildly, astounding the shocked pair into a stupor as they whirled around to find him standing there behind them with his beanie on.

 

“Oh my God, JUG!” Archie leapt forward, immediately snuffling and tear streaked, embarrassing the hell out of his introverted companion. “I missed you so much bro, I can’t even-” Archie’s explosive and heartfelt ramblings poured forth, and Jughead endured the tidal wave of emotion cresting forward with his wry grin, never having been prone to extraordinary displays of affection, but entirely tolerant of those he had come to expect from the impossibly tender Archie Andrews. Truth be told, Jughead had led a fairly barren life when it came to tenderness, but Archie made up for that for the both of them. It was one of the reasons why Jughead would always love Archie --- the brother he chose.

 

“Arch, wow . . . please . . . people are watching. They’re going to think you’re in love with me.” Jughead flushed, trying to maintain his own composure in the face of such a deluge of adoration.  

 

“Let them think what they want, I don’t care man.” Archie sniffled, laughing and thumping his best friend’s back with fierce gusto. “You’re BACK!”

 

“Yup.” Jughead was trying so hard not to grin like an idiot and was failing abysmally as he just stood there, enveloped by Archie Andrews -- and then he met Betty’s gaze over Archie’s shoulder. He found himself captivated by those impossibly azure eyes, as blue as a cloudless sky. He was completely drifting away in the warm, brimming gaze of Betty Cooper. She was just standing there at the bus stop in euphoric silence, face plastered with a sterling beam, watching the scene between the two boys with her heart rupturing at the seams with joy and pride. Jughead could see it in her quiet admiration; she just knew she was the reason he was here with them. They held each other’s eyes like that, Jughead in silent gratitude, Betty in proud acknowledgement, and poor Archie rambling in joyful oblivion.  

 

He had always known, but that was the exact moment he realized that he couldn’t lie to himself any longer.

 

From the first time they had met Jughead was acutely aware of the fact that he felt something special for Betty, but that day had solidified what he had been denying, avoiding, and doing a shit job of ignoring his whole life. His young mind had always been trying to piece it all together and now he was backed into a corner by the truth: he completely loved Betty Cooper with his whole heart, his entire being. He always had, and he always would -- from that first popsicle stick to the first time he wore that beanie, it had always been there.

 

But as soon as he had figured that part out for sure, he settled in for disappointment.

 

The truth was one thing, and reality was another to contend with. There was one fact that he had been undeniably positive about, even long before he knew that he irrevocably loved Betty without question:

 

Betty Cooper was in love with Archie Andrews.

 

This was not the first nor would it be the last time that this fact would make Jughead want to put his head through a freaking wall.

 

It was infuriating, because it seemed to Jughead that although the perfect girl lived next door to Archie -- literally in the house next to him! -- his eyes always seemed to wander elsewhere. Jughead couldn’t get his mind to comprehend how Archie’s worked when it came to Betty or girls. It was probably the biggest source of contention between them, and there were times when Archie was so oblivious, fawning over other girls, and Betty would just chew at her lip in despondent insecurity, and Jughead would have to resist screaming and thumping his best friend over the head.

 

This cycle of stupidity was one he never wanted any part of, but he had learned pretty quickly that what he wanted to feel and what he actually felt would never be in sync. He loved Betty Cooper, and he wished he didn’t. Because Betty Cooper loved Archie Andrews, and Jughead wished she didn’t. Because Archie Andrews was oblivious that the most perfect girl in the world loved him and he didn’t really seem to notice that it was actually smacking him right in the forehead -- and for Betty’s sake, he wished Archie would notice. And selfishly for his own sake, he wished Archie wouldn’t, and he felt like a monster for even thinking that sometimes -- and rinse, dry, and repeat.

 

Archie was oblivious, Betty was sad, and Jughead felt guilty. He was exhausted and 100% done with it on a daily basis -- he just wanted his best friends to be happy, but he also wanted to be happy, and it seemed like that was impossible for all of them. Quite literally, it was torture.

 

Night after night Jughead spent in the treehouse talking long into the night with Archie, sparingly allowing him to ask questions about his home life and instead opting to talk about normal teen topics like comics, video games, and of course that increasingly developing interest in girls.

  
It was funny to Jughead that while his own life at home was literally a broken raft that him and his father still clung to while taking on water that he could still somehow muster a genuine interest in this topic of conversation. The reason for this was distinctly Betty, albeit he attempted to lie to himself about it in futility. Whatever was going on in his own macabre creature feature of a life, the only thing that mattered more was that Betty was happy. She had single-handedly saved him from limbo and he was content to whittle away his days trying to cook up ways to help her find the happiness that she selflessly gave to others. He was desperate to make her happy, but to his own chagrin he just wasn’t what she wanted. That stung, but that didn’t matter -- she did. He was  determined to see her get that happy ending that she so rightly deserved.

 

Unfortunately, Archie was an unwittingly terrible participant in this mission. Months would sweep by like the rise and fall of Sweetwater River as Archie would develop a new flavour of the week, gushing about his latest infatuation that he'd developed from school. One girl did her hair in creative ways, another loved video games which was _so_ unique (Jughead argued that Betty had always loved video games which Archie promptly dismissed), or the new girl had a cute accent or an exciting background.

  
There was no getting around it: Archie had always been a little flighty when it came to his interests. He switched favorite games constantly, frustrating Jughead who was a completionist at heart. He regularly changed his mind about who his favorite comic book heroes were, while Jughead held a steadfast loyalty to Deadpool whom he admired for his wit, atypical brand of heroism and pension for breaking the fourth wall. Archie didn't even hold fast to a favorite food and shifted through phases to the frustration of Fred while Jughead would forever worship at the temple of cheeseburgers. In summary, Archie thrived on diversity and change while Jughead revered fidelity and tradition.

 

Jughead thought this was perfectly reasonable, normal, and perhaps one of the many reasons why him and Archie got along so well. Their extremely polar opposite personalities complimented one another well. The only thing they frequently disagreed on was Betty. They would always cycle back to her whenever Archie would go on a tangent about a new potential love interest, and Jughead would interject with the usual variation of "but you know that Betty's always carried the torch for you, Arch. She's been there for you the longest. Doesn't it just make sense to give her a chance when you start dating?"

  
The next two years were filled with moments like this, as if they were on some endless time loop that always brought them both back to that point. And as they slipped further into their teen years Jughead would lie there in the treehouse listening to the same old song and dance, his best friend prattling on about the merits of Betty Cooper. He would begin silently agreeing within, mentally adding to that never ending list of things that made Betty Cooper special and worthwhile when Archie’s verbal ramblings fell short.

 

Archie would simply arrive at the conclusion that Betty had always been there and therefore she always would. There was nothing new or exciting in it to hook his constantly shifting interest. Too often these rants would end with a signature “and Betty is great and all – Betty is perfect but . . .”  


There it was.

 

Jughead felt his face get hot like it always did and he got that tight pressure in his chest, as if he were about to explode. A little voice buried deep within the encasement of Jughead’s mind that never dared push its way to his lips would always challenge Archie back in these moments. _But what?_

  
This otherworldly being that had kissed their lives with her presence had provided no offense to their existence, constantly amplifying their worth just by being in close proximity to that light. She reached out and gently offered warmth to whatever she made contact with effortlessly. No abhorrent or justifiable flaw to tackle or inspect, radiating sunshine, love and warmth through each gaze, each movement, each smile, each hand she placed on every project, every human she touched. She even found a way to make Jughead’s own shit storm of a life feel worthwhile, even as it seemed to be crumbling down around him. She was love and strength, wherever she was.

  
Jughead would just stare at Archie sometimes, resisting the urge to shake the sense that stubbornly held fast lose in his friend’s mind.

  
_Don’t you know she’s yours? She could be all yours one day if you would only reach out to meet her halfway. But . ._.

  
_But what, Archie?_ That voice niggled persistently into the night, roving over each negligible possibility. That voice kept him up long after his red-headed companion had settled into his sleeping bag and the rumbling snores of an untroubled mind provided a gentle background hum in the din of his own frustrated thoughts.

  
_But what?_

  
He always found himself at a loss, aching, and feeling ashamed for feeling on the matter at all. Why did he fret so hard about this every time it came up? This was a normal topic to talk about. Eventually it would be normal for them all to start dating. It was an eventuality creeping up like some poltergeist stalking him, a demon hanging on his back as they had all approached the tender stages of love and all that came with it. A healthy interest in the opposite sex was a natural progression for them, and his guts twisted in knots at the end of every debate that he and Archie held about girls. Archie would press him constantly, elbowing him and goading him into a confession of interest.   
  
"Come on, Jug. There has to be some girl you're interested in."   
  
"Nope. Girls are trouble, Arch. My life is complicated enough. Why, who do you have your eye on now? Is some lucky girl finally going to get the first date of Archie Andrews?" He'd tease as a deflection, and his friend was happy to entertain him with thoughts on his latest muse.

  
The truth was, of course there was some girl he was interested in. But she wasn't some girl. She was Betty. She was **the** girl, the only girl who had ever made his insides flutter ever since they were little, and she was their best friend. She was the only girl he had ever wanted, and she didn’t want him. The end. What else was there? What was he supposed to do with that? Dating any other girl would be a lie -- it wouldn’t be fair to the girl or to himself. He would never tell Archie, who was impossibly honest and therefore the most miserable secret keeper known to man. He was a terrible liar, and a secret that big would surely prove to be too much for his best friend to keep from their other best friend.   
  
Then there was the idea of actually telling her himself, which the very thought of made Jughead want to vomit from nervousness. Not only would he rather die a slow and silent death than ever allow this confession to see the light of day -- he would never survive the anxiety attack this would catalyze, but the risk was far too high. What if he lost her as a friend?

 

The idea actually gutted him in a way that made him stomach sick. To lose Betty would be to lose a massively important part of his world. He would destroy this perfect nest of normalcy that his two best friends had forged with him, his shelter from the destructive hurricane that was his home life. He was happy to have her in whatever capacity she had to offer. Just to be close with her and share a part of her life was an honor beyond what Jughead had ever dared to expect. She was simply too important to him to lose, and he valued her friendship too much to put her in that kind of situation. He already knew the truth, therefore it was illogical to pursue that avenue. He thought so much of her, and he respected her too much to put her in that awkward situation. If he tried to play that game, he would lose.  

  
Betty wanted Archie.

  
The girl deserved what she wanted. Everything she wanted.   
Jughead would be damned before he’d try to ask her to settle for anything less.   
_To settle for me._   
Sometimes it would be light outside before he even realized it, so caught up in his own anxieties.   
Archie would stir in the sleeping bag beside him and he would experience that small fleeting pang of panic, realizing he had just lid there brooding all night.   
He would often wonder: what would he see on my face if he turned over and saw me right now? Would he be able to tell?   
  
Jughead would discreetly settle himself down into a convincing sleeping position, close his eyes, and feign unburdened rest. The rustling sound of nylon and a muffled change in breathing.   
“Jug?” Archie’s voice was rough with sleep. “You up?”   
Silence.   
Forsythe’s body was still as his mind lumbered on.

  
No, she wasn’t perfect.   
She didn’t have to be. He would take her with her self-consciously tucked away containers of Adderall, her mother hen persistence, he pension for nibbling at her nails when her bouts of anxiety threatened to overtake and drown her. She had panic attacks before math tests that she already knew she would ace. She tied her ponytails too tight and fixed her shirts too often. She fidgeted, she cried easily, and she certainly had a streak of darkness somewhere in her core that he had seen that day that the boys destroyed his hat from Jellybean.   
But he knew all that.   
And he still wanted that around him 24/7.   
He couldn’t get enough.   
  
But the golden rule was the golden rule.   
Priority #1: Betty must be happy.   
And he didn’t make her happy. Archie did.   
So he did what he always did.   
He buried his head in music, books and burgers.   
He kept his head down.   
He stayed quiet.   


From the time he was thirteen to the age of fifteen, that was his routine -- his mantra.

 

Until that day he had seen her storming across the school grounds, a vision of pale pink with a bejewelled white collar, a perfect blonde ponytail. Nothing that beautiful should have ever been made to look that miserable, and that shattered expression on Betty’s face had looked so foreign that she nearly looked like a stranger.

 

Jughead couldn’t help himself. He lumbered up to his feet and rushed to catch up to the crestfallen girl.

  
Because priority #1: Betty must be happy.   
  
\--- 

_I have been waiting to write this next upcoming scene ever since I first started writing this story -- the scene I wish we could have seen on the actual show. I am so excited!!! As always let me know your thoughts and I'll catch y'all soon. OCTOBER 11TH IS DESCENDING ON US ALL! <3 Much love my babies. _

 


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